


The Black Widow's Waltz

by DetectiveIdiotBoy



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BDSM, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, Contains Spoilers for Nuka World DLC, Dark fic, Dirty Talk, Drug Use, Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, Eventual Smut, Forced Orgasm, Handcuffs, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Knife Play, Light Bondage, M/M, NFSW starts in chapter 3, Nuka-World Amusement Park (Fallout), Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Painful Sex, Porn With Plot, Possessive Behavior, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Slow Burn, Smut, Smut Chapters Marked with an Asterisk, Spanking, Suicidal Thoughts, plot heavy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:27:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 81,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28297518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DetectiveIdiotBoy/pseuds/DetectiveIdiotBoy
Summary: The Commonwealth is in ruins, every major faction wiped out by the Sole Survivor. While the settlers struggled to pick up the pieces, MacCready decided that it was time to head back home. Unfortunately for him, before he could get back to the safety of his farmhouse in the Capital, MacCready found himself kidnapped by none other than the Sole Survivor himself, who's managed to take over a theme park full of raiders since finishing off the Commonwealth. Surrounded by raiders and stalked by one of the most powerful, ruthless psychopaths in the wasteland, MacCready has no choice but to go along with the new Overboss' desires.---Part One (The Hurt): Chapters 1-13Part Two (The Comfort): Chapters 14-25
Relationships: Robert Joseph MacCready/Male Sole Survivor, Robert Joseph MacCready/Sole Survivor
Comments: 87
Kudos: 71





	1. The Gauntlet

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas everybody. After the year we all had, I'd say we deserve a little levity and fun. If you're looking for a light-hearted read while you're stuck at home with family this holiday
> 
> close this fic and don't look back. 
> 
> This is some of the darkest I've ever gone in my writing. There was a while when I was certain I was never going to post this because I felt it was too upsetting, but in the end, I really do enjoy it, so I want to share it with my fellow rotten-hearted sadists. I will have content warnings posted on each chapter in the end notes, if you are sensitive to particular subjects (Such as sex, suicide, and violence) then feel free to check them before reading. As always, this fic has already (mostly) been written, so update will be fairly frequent until it is all out. 
> 
> So, if the tags haven't scared you off thus far, then please enjoy~ <3

MacCready had absolutely no idea how he managed to get himself into so much trouble so often. It seemed like ever since he turned sixteen and was booted from his rocky home in Little Lamplight, life had done nothing but kick him in the shins over and over. First poverty, then becoming a widower, raising a sick kid, his stint with the Gunners, and now fighting for his life against a theme park full of raiders for the entertainment of an unseen crowd. 

“Over there!” 

MacCready ducked behind a centuries-old rollercoaster cart as a hail of gunfire came down on him. The raiders scurried overhead like rats, each wanting to be the one to land the killing blow on their target. MacCready lifted his rifle and aimed fast; he managed to put a bullet in the raider who’d spotted him, but her teammates weren’t far behind. He pushed himself back into an alcove to avoid being fired on from above through the wire-mesh ceiling. 

_“And the mysterious Commonwealth gunner with the green hat takes another raider from the Disciples!”_ The radioman's voice came over the loudspeaker _“That puts the score at eighteen-to-zero for our green-hatted friend. Will he make it to the Overboss round? Or will our remaining two raiders send him out with a bang?”_

MacCready huffed, reloading his gun. He hadn’t meant to end up playing this game - he couldn’t imagine anyone was stupid enough to try their hand going up against a small army of raiders in a caged deathmatch. MacCready had only wanted to get out of the Commonwealth; things had gone hell real fast over the past few years. 

It all started with a mysterious vault dweller and the disappearance of the Minutemen. After the Minutemen turned on themselves, the last of them were wiped out by a mysterious man emerging from the vaults after being in stasis for 200 years. He was the Sole Survivor of Vault 111, a powerful, god-like man who was rumored to be immortal - or at least, that was the common telling of the story. It all sounded more like an urban legend to MacCready. What wasn’t myth was what came next, though. 

That mystery man from the vaults went on to spend the next two years wreaking havoc on the people of the Commonwealth. When the Brotherhood flew their glorified blimp into the ‘wealth the vault dweller got in good with them before shooting it out of the sky. There was even rumor that he was responsible for the destruction of the Railroad, the Institute, and the assassination of Diamond City’s mayor. No one could figure out his motives; the man swore allegiance to no one and killed everyone he had ever been associated with. Even his name was hard to pin down.

MacCready first took notice of him when he started paling around with Hancock. He’d never met the vault dweller personally - or even saw him for that matter - but he heard every rumor that came up about him while he was in Goodneighbor. _‘The Sole Survivor shot Bobbi No-Nose!’ ‘Did you know the Sole Survivor is in good with Hancock? They've been hanging out an awful lot since that No-Nose business.' ‘I heard the Sole Survivor and Hancock have gotten_ real _close lately.’ ‘Did you hear? The vaultie murdered Hancock!’_

If MacCready had been smart he should have taken off as soon as Hancock was dead. Goodneighbor went from back-alley settlement to full blown anarchy overnight. And even with the entire town out for blood, the man from the vaults _still_ managed to slip away unharmed. 

But MacCready had waited to leave, still wanting to try his hand at getting the cure for his son. Now though, the Commonwealth was ruled entirely by the Gunners, Forged, Rust Devils, and just about every other raider gang who wanted a piece of the newly established land of lawlessness. By the time MacCready had seen the writing on the wall he'd ended up running face-first into a raider trap by blindly following rumors of a train out of the Commonwealth like a moron. That train sent its passengers straight into a raider-run tournament to the death; Every single one of the other people who had been on that train had been killed in the first few rounds - mostly former settlers looking to escape with what little they had. It was sick, but MacCready didn’t have any time to wallow if he wanted to survive this. 

MacCready managed to throw the searching Raiders off his trail with a few quick movements. His time in the Gunners had at least been good for something; it taught him how to lie low and wait for the right moment to strike. A Raider crawled down the side of the cage like a spider, hunting knife between their teeth. MacCready didn’t give them a chance to alert the other Raiders when they saw him and put a bullet in their throat. He used the announcer’s ringing voice to cover his footsteps as he moved.

There was one more. One more filthy Raider hunting him down that MacCready had to shoot, then he moved on to this “Overboss” round, or whatever. It sounded like a challenge, if not a brutal execution, but if it meant he didn’t have to crawl around on blood-soaked linoleum with his heart in his throat anymore then it was good enough for him.

MacCready stayed where he was for a solid sixty seconds, catching his breath while darting his eyes back and forth. The last Raider was nowhere in sight, likely trying to lure MacCready to him. He wasn’t going to fall for it; MacCrady had the advantage where he was. The ceiling was solid overhead and with his back to the wall he could keep the only entry point down the sights of his gun. 

_“It seems our little survivalist is trying to wait us out, folks,”_ The sound of a crowd booing played over the speaker. MacCready couldn’t tell if it was pre-recorded or a live audience. _“If he doesn’t move soon I guess I’ll just have to ask the Pack if we can borrow their attack dogs. I don’t think they’ve been fed yet today._ ”

Crap.

MacCready lowered his gun and darted back into the open, head swiveling and constantly ducking in-and-out of cover. 

_“Now that’s more like it! Keep heading towards that hallway, Killer, you’re almost through. The crowd can’t wait to meet you, Green Hat.”_ The sound of cheers played over the loudspeaker, and this time MacCready could faintly hear the live roars from somewhere off in the distance. What kind of sick bastard would actually _want_ to watch this??

MacCready checked his back before sliding into the hallway. It felt so clearly like a trap, MacCready couldn’t stop checking the ground for landmines and tripwires. When he reached the door he pushed it open just barely, surveying his new local before darting for the nearest cover. The Raider has to be around here somewhere… 

A _crack_ of sound. The feeling of being punched straight in the chest. All of the wind left MacCready’s lungs as he tumbled backwards, stunned for a moment, then he scrambled to hide behind a stack of boxes before more gunfire followed. 

MacCready panted, warring through panic as he surveyed the damage. His combat armor had a 5.56 embed right over his sternum. That had been close - _way_ too friggin' close. 

_“And he takes a direct hit to the chest folks! But things aren’t over yet - looks like that armor isn’t just for show. Too bad about his leg - it looks like Green Hat isn’t running anywhere any time soon_.”

His leg? MacCready tried to stand, and faltered back down to a crouch. He looked. Blood ran from his calf to his boots. His left leg was numb and cold and probably hurting if MacCready were in a place where he could process pain. 

MacCready heard horrible laughter nearby. No. He pulled his legs in and pressed himself back into the corner where the boxes met the wall. Not like this. 

“Aw, did I hurt ya, lil guy?” A cruel, mocking voice sneered. “Why don’t you come on out so I can the pain go away in that bum leg of yours?” More footsteps, slow, meandering, savoring. 

MacCready’s hands shook. His rifle still had at least four shots in it, but at close range it would be hard to make sure any of them actually hit their mark, especially since he didn’t know where his threat would come from. Sound echoed off the walls of the room, making it impossible to hear from where his attacker was approaching. MacCready hissed as the pain from his leg started to make itself known. He gritted his teeth. Not the time. 

The boxes were suddenly thrown back with a gleeful shout. MacCready’s hands hesitated on the trigger and his gun was yanked from his grasp. The scarred-up raider pounced on him, pinning MacCready to the ground by his throat with a single, giant hand while the other held a knife over his face.

“There you are,” The man chuckled, spit foaming at his mouth. He was on chems for sure. “I’m gonna enjoy myself - make this nice and slow.”

MacCready growled and threw a knee up, hitting right where it would hurt the most. The Raider screamed and MacCready jerked out from under him. He grabbed his discarded rifle and brought the butt down on the Raider’s head twice, bashing him to the ground. He flipped the gun around, stumbling backwards onto the boxes as he popped off four shots, most of which landed in the Raiders skull.

_“And there we have it folks!! Green Hat is the winner!! Let this be a lesson to you all about playing with your food. Dead things don’t bite back.”_

MacCready leaded against the boxes, sliding to the ground while catching his breath. He was sweating despite the tepid air. His calf _screamed_ in pain and his chest ached where he took the bullet. MacCready pulled up the fabric of his pants - tearing the seam in his fervor - so that he could get a good look at the wound. Just a nick. A good chunk of flesh was gone and pouring blood, but nothing vial was hit and there wasn’t anything stuck in the wound. Good. No, not good, but better than it could be. 

MacCready’s right hand fumbled with his vest pocket before he found a vial of Med-X. He’d already been through two doses of buffout and a more-than-was-heathy number of stimpacks, what was one more chem to add to the cocktail? Besides, from the sound of things, this had just been the qualifying rounds; the real game hadn’t even begun. 

After the injection MacCready sighed, letting the magic of pre-war medicine radiate through him. Once as he felt he could touch the wound without fainting MacCready did his best to tie it off with his pants. 

_“Come on, Green Hat, the people are waiting!”_ An impatient voice came from over the loudspeaker. _“Let’s get this show on the road; there will be plenty of time for you to heal up in the locker rooms._ ”

Locker room? Well, that was hospitable of them. They probably just wanted him at the top of his game for whatever this “overboss” round was. MacCready remembered one of the kids he grew up with would talk a lot about torture techniques; creepy little guy kept saying that you had to heal your victims all the way before you had at them, that way they would last longer. He probably grew up to be a raider, come to think of it. MacCready wondered if he was in the crowd.

MacCready pulled himself to his feet, swaying a little. He’d drank a can of water at the beginning of the day but had been saving his food for later in his journey. Blood loss and exercise had worn him thin. A door had opened up across from him, seeming to lead into some sort of building.

 _“Hussle, hussle,_ ” The voice over the radio demanded.

“I’m going as fast as I f-fu- can,” MacCready grumbled. He wondered if the man over the radio could even hear him.

Limping, using his empty rifle as a cane, MacCready stumbled through the door into the air-conditioned building. He shivered, pushing through as the door closed behind him. He flopped down on a chair, wrapped his arms around himself, and took several long, sobbing breaths. 

Through the walls MacCready could hear the vibrations of a crowd screaming and chanting. Looks like he really _did_ have an audience; one that was most likely looking forward to watching him die in some unique, gory way. MacCready couldn’t even process the thought fully.

Mind still hazy from Med-X and one-too-many brushes with death in the last hour, MacCready looked over the room. There were labeled drawers for chems of all kinds stacked along the lockers, true to the announcer’s word. MacCready immediately started for the stimpack drawer so he could work on his leg. Along the way he saw lockers labeled “Baseball Bats”, “Shotguns”, “Knives”, “Lazor Weapons”... They were allowing him to stock up before going forward? It put MacCready on edge. Some of these were way more powerful than should be necessary for a cage match; were they going to put him up against a Deathclaw or something?

The fact that that wasn’t out of the realm of possibility made MacCready stop thinking. He focused on getting the stimpack into his leg before he caught an infection. As the skin resealed itself MacCready took inventory of the supplies he had available to him. Chems, weapons, water, armor. MacCready had been hoping for something edible that wasn’t designed to give you a high. His stomach growled. 

_“Are you almost ready?”_

The voice was staticy, but it was different from the announcer, and much quieter. MacCready followed his ears to a panel on the wall with a speaker and a receiver. He frowned, stepping forward.

“That all depends on just what the heck you people are about to throw at me,” He said. There was a pause, and MacCready was left to wonder if the man could hear him at all before he spoke again.

_“Why don't you take a step forward and try lookin' through the window.”_

MacCready felt a knot in his stomach as he did what the voice told him. To his left there was a large window overlooking a cage similar to the ones he’d been fighting in thus far. The difference was this time there was a mountain of spectators circling around the indoor arena. Raiders in facepaint and spiked armor screaming, cheering, and bashing against the cage piled high on bleachers. The sight alone was enough to make MacCready’s head spin. 

But what really caught his attention was the man at the center of it all.

At first there wasn’t much to look at besides the ridiculously overpowered armor that fizzled with electricity periodically. On its own, that would be enough to dash any hopes of survival foolishly hiding out in MacCready, but when the man turned and MacCready got a better look at him, something in his head clicked.

Straight black hair cropped at the neckline, blue eyes, shaved face, pip-boy securely fastened to his right wrist… 

“Oh my god,” MacCready said, stepping away from the glass. “Is that…?”

The man over the speaker chuckled. “Afraid it is,” He confirmed. “That’s our new Overboss. Couldn’t have built a better man for the job. Now, how’s about you take a few minutes and get ready for your fight - don’t keep us waiting too long, though. The fans tend to get a bit routy.”

There was a click and MacCready was left to assume anything he said would be heard only by him, not that he had much left to say, except maybe a few prayers. MacCready stepped back and fell into the chair behind him, putting his head down against his clasped hands as he tried to figure out just what the hell he could do to get out of this. 

He was going to have to fight the man in the power armor. The man who wiped out the Minutemen in a night, toppled every Commonwealth government, and took down both the Institute and the Brotherhood from the inside. The man who was rumored to be older than two centuries and practically immortal. 

The raiders were going to pin him against the Sole Survivor.

Okay. Options. MacCready had a limited selection, he knew that, but there were some. He could just refuse to leave the room. He had a feeling that one wouldn’t work for long. The Raiders would probably just drag him out themselves if they didn’t sic the dogs on him like the announcer had threatened before. Similarly, he could take off his armor and walk out there with his hands up; he doubted that would save him much torment, but he would at least be denying his captors a show. Only briefly did he consider downing an entire bottle of Buffout and washing it down with a Jet-Psycho cocktail. Suicide may not be the cowards way out after all, because the thought _terrified_ him. 

But really, MacCready already knew what he was going to do. He thought back to the handful of people who had been on the train with him; a young couple, a boy just a little younger than MacCready, a twitchy older man who couldn’t outrun a radroach. All of them were corpses now, weeded out so that the mysterious vault dweller could get his kicks fighting the strongest among them. It pissed MacCready off something fierce. Who did this guy think he was, messing with people’s lives like this? MacCready could feel his jaw cramp where his teeth were grit. 

MacCready stood up suddenly, striding across the room. He threw open the locker doors and began assembling his armory. The rifle he’d been firing from was pure crap, something he had picked off of a corpse at the beginning of the deathmatches. His personal rifle - a loan from Daisy he’d never repay now - was packed in his bags that had more than likely already been taken by the raiders. MacCready found an automatic combat rifle with over eighty rounds in the magazine. He picked it up; too heavy. Shotguns it would be then. 

The crowd behind him roared as they watched him through the glass; he shirked his damaged armor and replaced it with a reinforced, plated chest piece. He looked over the chems, and despite realizing there was nothing they could do to him that was worse than what he was about to walk into himself, he abstained. He wouldn’t die sober - he’d already taken too much Buffout and Med-X for that - but he was going to try to keep his promise to Lucy and his son as much as possible. 

It was now or never; MacCready knew he was never going to be ready for this. Hands clutching the shotgun with white knuckles, MacCready stepped forward past the gate.

_“And Green Hat enters the arena!”_

The noise hits MacCready all at once. The crowd, the announcer, the _zap zap zap_ of the electrified power armor tinging in front of him. His head swam, and suddenly all of the bravado about dying on his feet like a man was gone. It took every ounce of pride for him not to collapse on legs that felt more like jelly than flesh. 

Those cold eyes struck him from behind the power armor helmet, darting over MacCready like a scholar studying a tome. The Overboss turned to face MacCready and casually stepped forward, shaking the floor with each pounding footstep. The air tingled with electricity, making every hair on his body stand up. MacCready felt like a kid again, facing down the mungos. He couldn’t even bring himself to glare at the hulking figure staring down at him with a soft smile that stood out of place among the nauseating circumstances. 

The crowd behind them had started chanting like dogs - the noise was so loud that it somehow made it hard for the merc to see properly - but MacCready was still able to make out what the man in the power armor was saying. 

“You’re MacCready, aren’t you?” He said. His voice was coming from a speaker somewhere on the armor, yet it still came out in smooth, melotic tones. “The merc from Goodneighbor?” 

MacCready swallowed. “Y-yeah,” He said. He hated the tremor that plagued his voice when he was scared, but there was little he could do about it. 

“Huh. I was wondering where you'd run off to,” The Overboss said, still casual. Something about his tone helped MacCready snap out of his self-pitying panic. His eyes narrowed and his grip around his gun tightened. 

“I left after you axed just about every decent person living in the Commonwealth,” MacCready snarled. He could hear his own heartbeat in his ears over the crowd, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the gut-wrenching chuckle that came from the Overboss’ mouth. 

“That’s fair,” He said. The man still made no move to attack MacCready; he wondered if he should try to catch the Overboss off guard with a shotgun blast to the face. MacCready couldn’t get his arms to move. Instead, the Overboss tilted his head to the side. “I don’t suppose there’s any way I could convince you I’m really the good guy here, right?” 

MacCready frowned. Why were they talking? Shouldn’t the fight have started by now? His silence seemed to function as a ‘no’, so the Overboss continued. 

“I guess it doesn’t matter,” He said, continuing his one-sided conversation. “Still, it would be a shame for you to die so soon.” 

“Actually, I prefer not to die at all, actually,” MacCready said without thinking, still finding the courage somewhere deep inside him to mouth-off to the man about to murder him in front of hundreds of spectators. The Overboss laughed. 

“Don’t we all?” The Overboss stepped back and turned to face the crowd. “Listen up!” MacCready jumped. He was much louder now. “Turns out we have a special guest here, you freaks. Mayor MacCready, former Gunner and mercenary for hire, has come all the way from the Capitol Wastes to visit our set up.” The crowd screamed. MacCready starred as he heard an abridged version of his life story poured out for strangers. “Now, I don’t think it would be fair to good ol’ MacCready here if we treated him like some regular old Commonwealth scum. He fought his way through a lot of shit to get this far. I say he’s earned a break.” 

The crowd didn’t like where this was headed. There were boos and items tossed at the cage. Raiders clawed at the mesh and rattled the bars. The Overboss remained unphased. 

“If any of you have a problem with this, why don’t you come in here and take it up with me personally?” The Overboss grinned, and MacCready had never seen anything so manic and deranged as the look in his eyes just then. It was the kind of stare that would make a Deathclaw shrink and whimper. “You all want to see a fight? Let’s get some volunteers in here!”

Amazingly, there were several who crowded the barred door, begging to be let in to fight the psychotic serial killer. MacCready looked between the Overboss and the door, uncertain. A warm, human hand grabbed him by the arm and yanked him back, forcing the shotgun from his arms. MacCready turned to see a man in a metal eyepatch and a short mohawk restraining him. The Overboss starred at the newcomer and motioned towards the behind them - one that was off-limits to the crowd and thus wasn’t filling up with Raiders. 

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Boss,” The man said. 

“Gage, when have I ever let you down?” The Overboss said with a wink and a smile. 

The man, Gage, grunted and yanked MacCready along. “Come on, runt,” he growled. “Don’t make me fuckin’ drag you.”

“What?” MacCready said, tripping over his feet to keep pace. He hadn’t followed anything that had happened since the Overboss started talking to him. “Where are we going?”

“You’re going back to the Overboss’ quarters,” Gage said, punching in a series of numbers to unlock the door. “It seems the boss wants a new toy.”

MacCready’s eyes widened. He felt a freezing wave of terror wash over him. He pulled against Gage’s grip, fighting to get away as he was pulled along through another set of halls. MacCready was familiar with what happened to Raider “toys” - he had found himself picking through their severed remains more than once for ammo and supplies. Dying on his feet was one thing, but MacCready wasn’t about to let himself be dissected alive or violated for the pleasure of some sociopathic narcissist.

When MacCready started to dig the nails of his free hand into Gage’s thumb the man turned, gripping MacCready by the throat and lifting him up to slam him against the wall. MacCready’s feet scrambled just above the ground. “I want you to listen real good, boy,” The man hissed. “You’re gonna follow me back across the park, or I’m gonna drag you. If you manage to make it outta my hands, I’ll let the Disciples have at you, and they’ll do you worse than anything the Boss can come up with, understand?” 

MacCready’s head was hot and heavy, strained by the lack of air. He struggled to swallow. Eyes squeezed shut, he nodded. MacCready was dropped and given less than a second to catch his breath before he was yanked up to his feet by the collar of his shirt. 

“Don’t fall behind,” Gage said. “If anyone catches you I’m not fighting them to keep you.” 

MacCready swayed on his feet, staggering along behind the muscled raider. He only made it halfway through the hallway before hunger, chems, exhaustion and pure stress got the better of him and he collapsed. The last thing he remembered clearly was being hoisted up like a sack of ‘Tatos and the unhappy mumblings of Porter Gage.


	2. Rude Awakenings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a bit of an error in uploading this so if you got two notifications sorry about that!!! Blame AO3's weird "future date" system :p
> 
> (See end notes for extra content warnings)

MacCready was woken up by a bucket of water thrown over his head. 

MacCready startled, heart hammering painfully in his chest as he sat up and lashed out with an arm before his eyes were even open yet. He rubbed the water off of his face as fast as he could, coughing as he looked around. He was on a wooden sofa sitting on the terrace of some building overlooking the pre-war theme park. In front of him stood an annoyed raider; the same annoyed raider who had carried him out of the arena.

“Have a good nap, sleeping beauty?” Gage said, arms crossed over his chest. MacCready didn’t respond, still getting his bearings. It was like waking up from a nightmare to find yourself in an even worse one. The sun had just set and the open air was beating against his soaked clothes. MacCready wrapped his arms around himself and shivered. 

“Don’t get too comfortable - the boss is gonna be here soon,” Gage said. MacCready felt sick to his stomach, and Gage must have followed his eye line because the next thing he said was, “Don’t even think about it; the fall wouldn’t be enough to kill you. You’d break every bone in your body and all it would do is waste five minutes of my time riding down the elevator to bring you back up.”

MacCready tore his eyes away from the edge of the balcony and forced himself to look at his current captor. MacCready tried to speak, but it took him several seconds to make himself certain his voice wouldn’t waver. 

“What does the Overboss want with me?” He said. Gage shrugged.

“Hell if I know,” He said. “The guy’s a loon, even by our standards. No one can tell what he has going on in that head of his.”

MacCready imagined the inner workings of a mind capable of killing off every major faction within a hundred-mile radius would have to be pretty deranged; he just never thought he would be faced with meeting someone like that. The last words the Overboss spoke to him rang in his ears.

_“Still, it would be a shame for you to die so soon.”_

What the hell did that mean? MacCready pulled his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He shivered and told himself it was just because the water was cold and it was almost evening.

“Now what I’m curious about is how the Overboss knows you,” Gage said, giving MacCready a side-eye. MacCready shrugged.

“No clue. N-never met the guy,” He said, cringing at the tremble he'd let escape into his voice. 

Gage quirked a brow. “How does a wimp like you catch the attention of a man like that?” Normally MacCready would be irate at the insult, but curled up and exhausted as he was he could only manage to feel ashamed. Gage eyed MacCready skeptically. “Were you really with the Gunners?” He asked, doubt clearly evident in his voice. Frustration ebbed up in between the cracks of MacCready’s resignation, and he opened his mouth to protest but was cut off by the sound of rusty grinding gears and a rising elevator. 

“Porter! You up here?” The Overboss’ voice rang up the shaft before he was even visible. MacCready stood up only to find a thick hand wrapped around his arm. Gage gave him a stern look that told him any sudden movements would be met with violence. 

“Yeah, Boss,” he said. “I got the kid here with me, just like you asked.” 

MacCready starred as the elevator came to a halt, and a lithe figure with dark hair framing a soft face stepped off the platform. It was the man who had been in the power armor, for sure, but he seemed so much less imposing dressed in a clean suit than he did wrapped in two tons of metal and death. MacCready could almost imagine this sort of man coming off as charming if he hadn’t seen those slender lips form a monstrous smile standing over the dried gore of his enemies. The Overboss stepped around to greet his two guests with all the grace of a radstag doe, practically skipping in the last few steps. 

“I appreciate that, though I'd hardly call our friend here a child. As far as I am aware he's in his mid-twenties now,” The man said, standing close to his friend. "Good work getting him here unharmed. You really do have a way with commanding the raiders."

"Thanks, Boss," Gage said, just an iota of pride slipping through. The Overboss gave Gage a gentle smile and a pat on the shoulder; the raider grunted with a quirk of his mouth. The Overboss stepped back and looked between the two of them thoughtfully. “Truly, Porter, your service to me has been invaluable. Without you, I doubt the gangs here would have come to accept me as fast as they did.”

Gage cocked his head to the side, and there was the slightest hint of a smile on his face. “It’s nothin’. We worked hard to build what we got here, and I knew bringing you on board was the right call.”

“Of course."

The Overboss reached into the jacket of his coat, retrieved a silenced pistol, and shot Gage twice in the head. 

MacCready’s face was splattered with gore. A pair of holes tore through the top of the raider's skull, exposing bone and brain to the dusk air as shock and horror marred its victims's features. The hand around MacCready's arm tightened, then went loose as the man attached to it stumbled and fell to the ground with a resounding _thud_. It made MacCready dance on his feet to stay upright, but he never took his eyes off the Overboss. MacCready stared at the gun, waiting for his turn to be shot. 

Stunned still, MacCready watched as the slender hand pocketed the revolver. The Overboss chuckled warmly, and MacCready forced himself to look away from the man's chest and directly into those steely eyes. 

“Oh, you should see the look on your face right now,” He said, not a trace of remorse evident in his tones. “Relax, I’m not going to hurt you.”

With the way he spoke, MacCready could almost believe that, if there weren’t evidence to the contrary right in front of him (and on his face, and hat, and oh god _in his mouth_ ). Overboss took a step forward, and MacCready took a step back. The man’s smile showed a hint of the deranged again as he spoke. 

“Don’t run,” He said, chiding. 

Those words were the spark MacCready needed. He shot to the side, hoping to dash to the other end of the balcony. He didn’t care if it broke all his bones - any avenue of escape was under consideration. 

Those sender fingers caught his wrist and yanked him back. MacCready felt arms wrap around him and hold him flush with the other man’s chest. 

“Shhh… there, there,” the voice cooed in his ear, a hand stroking his cheek. “Don’t struggle.”

MacCready threw his head back, catching Overboss in the nose. He twisted out of his grip and made a dash for the main room. Exit, exit _exit_ \- the elevator was too slow. MacCready made the mistake of turning around to see if he was being followed. The Overboss was clutching his busted nose, blood pouring through his fingers. He was laughing. 

“That was a mistake,” Overboss growled, still smiling with straight, white, blood-smeared teeth. 

The Overboss moved fast. MacCready sidestepped the charge and put an old-timey cocktail bar between them. They were left in a momentary stalemate, eyes locked, trying to predict the other’s next move. That damn smile was going to have a hold over MacCready’s dreams for years to come - if he lived that long, that is.

MacCready made the first move. Out of the corner of his eyes MacCready spotted a door. He prayed to every god he knew it was unlocked. He was able to avoid the Overboss’s lunge by ducking and weaving, grabbing the knob so hard he was certain it would break. MacCready practically fell into the room, swinging back around to slam it shut. His hand fumbled with the lock, smearing blood and brain matter on the handle. MacCready stepped back just as the Overboss must have reached the door, because the handle rattled and the door creaked on its hinges. 

“Unlock the door, MacCready,” The voice warned, still managing to sound calm despite the abrupt chaotic noise. The nob rattled again. “There’s nowhere for you to run.” 

MacCready was shaking, barely able to catch his breath as he backed away from the door. There had to be something he could do, somewhere he could hide if he couldn’t escape. MacCready backed himself down a hallway, peering left and right. The corridor opened up into an open room with little to offer in the way of hiding spaces. He retreated farther back into the apartment. There was a bed, a nightstand, and a walk-in closet. At the opposite end of the room there was an old-school elevator. MacCready wasn’t shocked that the button didn’t work, but he did feel a little disappointed. 

The pounding at the door was getting louder; the Overboss was going to break through any minute. Purely panicked, MacCready did the only thing he could think to do and darted for the closet. 

He heard the hinges break and the terrace door slam the wall. Footsteps against carpet. MacCready backed himself into the hangers and slid down against the wall. He cupped a hand over his mouth, just in case the Overboss could hear his heart beating in his throat. Sounds of searching rang out through the room.

Back when Lucy died, MacCready had hidden himself and Duncan in a service closet while the ghouls swarmed them. He had sat there for hours, curled up with his son clinging to his shirt and crying. He had kept a hand over Duncan’s mouth the entire time so the ghouls wouldn’t hear them; he had felt his son's tears run down the back of his hand as he sat there, unable to do anything else. Now it was his own tears he felt sliding down his knuckles. Bile ran up into his throat. He was going to be found any second now, he was sure of it. 

The footsteps stopped. No more sounds of fabric sliding or objects being moved. Silence. MacCready waited. And waited. He expected the door to open at any minute, for his heart to suddenly stop in horror as his pursuer snatched him from the back of the closet and drug him out to meet whatever horrible fate he had in store for him. 

But it never came. Instead, the minutes dragged on and the silence beat at MacCready’s nerves like a hammer. His heart rate slowed, deciding at its own pace that the danger had passed. MacCready was left shedding silent tears and shivering like a child. Since when was he this pathetic? How come he didn’t grab a knife from the bar and try to take his attacker on like a man? 

Because he didn’t have a deathwish, that’s why. He had to remind himself over and over; he couldn’t afford to be reckless anymore, he had a sick kid at home who needed a cure, and barring that, to be with his father. MacCready wasn’t going to let Duncan be alone in this world like he was. He had to get back home to him. 

Thoughts of his son’s hand grasping at his fingers, of his wild, imaginative stories that he would spend hours telling - those kept MacCready from the edge of despair as he waited in the closet. He was going to get back home. He was going to see his son again.

Hours passed. The wetness clinging to his clothes dried into an uncomfortable dampness. MacCready dosed, waking with a start every time he realized he had begun to fall asleep. Still, there wasn’t any sound. MacCready didn’t trust it; had he missed the Overboss leaving? There wasn't a doubt in his head that the Overboss would never let him escape this easily. MacCready’s legs were numb, pins and needles pricking at his toes and begging for him to stand. After a while MacCready allowed the sleep to come, unsure of what else to do. He couldn’t say for sure what he was waiting for. If the Overboss had left then it wasn’t like there would be some confirmation MacCready could lock on to that didn’t involve leaving the safety of his closet. 

When MacCready did sleep long enough to dream he had nightmares. He would see the door open and the smiling vault dweller appear grabbing at him. He was certain he woke screaming at least once; surely if there was someone in the room with him they would have heard _that_. Other times he dreamed of escape. Of quietly crawling through the door and to the elevator, which would bring him down and out of the apartment, only for him to be swarmed by feral ghouls and ripped apart.

Eventually, MacCready became too exhausted to sleep. All of the chems he’d put in him were worn thin, and he’d run out of adrenaline hours ago. His stomach _ached_ and the lack of food in him was making him shakier than ever. MacCready thought back to the kitchen bar he'd briefly ducked behind. Was it possible there was still some food left in there? He would eat dry InstaMash right from the box if he saw it.

Finally, MacCready leaned forward and grabbed the knob. The needles in his legs stabbed him painfully as he rolled onto his feet; he bit back a hiss. His knees cracked as he slowly pushed the door open and crept out. He looked over the room, searching for any sign of black hair and blood-soaked limbs. Finding none, MacCready pushed the door open all the way and stepped out into the room on unsteady legs. 

“Good morning, precious.”

The words hit him like a bullet to the back. MacCready dropped to the ground like a bloatfly with its wings shot off. His heart, which had finally found a natural rhythm to follow, beat chaotically as his knees hit the floor with a thud. MacCready clutched his chest, tears threatening to spill again. 

“Oh god, oh god,” He muttered, staring down at the carpet as the Overboss’ boots stepped towards him.

“I won’t tease you on your sleeping habits too much, but I don’t know why you’d choose to spend the night in the closet when there’s a perfectly good bed right over there.” The man laughed, and MacCready would be a liar if he said it didn't sound serine and entirely genuine. He couldn’t take much more of this.

“Please- god, just- just kill me quickly and get it over with,” MacCready breathed. The Overboss laughed again, crouching down to place a hand on MacCready’s back. The fingers rubbed soothing circles over his spine. "Please…" 

“Do you really think I’m going to kill you?” He asked, as though the thought was entirely ridiculous. “And don’t call me God - Overboss is fine. Or just Nate, if you prefer.”

Nate. It was such a normal, boring name for someone with such a menacing aura. MacCready’s mind couldn’t hold on to it; the word was forgotten in seconds. 

“Wh- what do you want with me?” MacCready asked, still not letting his eyes travel away from the ground. 

"I just think you're interesting. That's all," the Overboss said. 

MacCready shook his head. “I’m no- not that interesting, promise.” 

There was that laugh again. “Not that interesting?” The Overboss said. “You were the mayor of your own colony at nine years old, you traveled half the east coast before your twenties, ran with the gunners - I’d say you’re plenty interesting.” 

Somehow, being called interesting by the Commonwealth’s most prolific serial killer did not make MacCready feel particularly at ease. And yet, for some reason, the way the Overboss was speaking about him made MacCready certain that he wasn’t going to die - at least, not tonight.

MacCready managed to raise his head and get himself to look at the man holding him hostage. The Overboss was smiling warmly, blue eyes crinkled at the edges. Up close the man didn’t look to be much older than MacCready, certainly younger than thirty. He had a friendly face, the kind you might trust if you didn’t have the context behind the charming looks. It did manage to lower the spiking terror MacCready was feeling by a not insignificant degree.

A well-manicured hand came up to cup MacCready’s jaw and he shuddered, eyes squeezed tightly shut. 

“You really don’t have to be afraid of me, honest,” The Overboss said. “I’m good to my friends.”

“You shot him…” MacCready said, trying and failing to get his voice not to crack. “Th-that raider guy…”

The Overboss’ mouth quirked into what could almost be a frown. “Gage was boring. I was already pretty tired of him when you came along.”

“That’s… not a reason to shoot somebody,” MacCready said, voice shockingly flat for the conversation he was having. He wasn’t sure why he had said that; the smart move would be to just agree with whatever the Overboss said so he didn’t end up being labeled as 'boring' or 'uninteresting' himself. Or maybe by agreeing so often he would end up shot anyways? He really had no idea what the Overboss wanted from him.

Thankfully, the Overboss seemed tolerant of dissent. His response was little more than a shrug. “What other reasons are there? Killing’s killing, you know.”

MacCready couldn’t respond to that. He had absolutely nothing to say after hearing something so deranged; even the worst of the gunners seemed to distinguish between times it was appropriate to kill someone and times it wasn’t, even if they often disagreed on _when_ those times were. 

The Overboss seemed to accept his lack of a response and let his hand drop from MacCready’s jaw. “Well, you’ve had quite the eventful day, haven’t you?” He said, standing back up. He offered MacCready a hand, which was not accepted. “I think you deserve a rest in an actual bed after all you’ve been through, hm?” 

MacCready was still exhausted, but he couldn’t imagine being able to sleep anywhere where this maniac could get him. It didn’t seem to matter what he wanted, though, because the Overboss just looped a hand under his armpit and pulled him stumbling to his feet. MacCready, head swimming, allowed himself to be moved over to the canopy bed in the center of the room. The Overboss gently pushed MacCready into sitting on the bed with a touch of his fingers. The moisture still soaked into his clothes made a damp puddle as he was pressed into the mattress. He bent over and unlaced MacCready’s boots, pulling them off and discarding them by the side of the bed. He gently plucked off the torn duster from MacCready’s frame, shaking bits of dried blood and gore onto the satin sheets as he did. MacCready watched, unable to take his eyes off of the dangerous - yet unfortunately attractive - man who was slowly undressing him. If he were in just a bit less mortal terror, the scene might have sparked a reaction in him. He felt like he was in the memory lounger back at Doctor Amari’s, watching events unfold around him through a screen - nothing about the situation felt real. 

The thing that happened next was what he logically assumed, but had hoped to avoid. The Overboss leaned forward and pressed an almost chaste kiss to MacCready’s lips. It was far from his first kiss - he did have a kid, after all - but it was the first time he’d kissed another man. It wasn’t unpleasant, it certainly did _something_ for him, but MacCready was far too terrified to be aroused. 

“You’re shaking again,” The Overboss said when he pulled his lips off of MacCready’s.

“Sorry,” MacCready mumbled. “Just… just a little tired n’ hungry.” And sacred, but he didn’t know how the Overboss would respond to that. He didn't like the direction things seemed to be headed, but he was certain a ‘no’ would either be disregarded or lead to his death, so he avoided it.

“Don’t lie,” The Overboss chided. “You don’t have to be afraid of me. I already said I’m not going to hurt you. You’re a friend.” His hands went for the buttons on MacCready’s shirt, loosening the fabric so he could stick his cold hands against MacCready’s warm shoulders. The feeling made him shudder and swallow down on a gag. 

“A friend, h-huh?” MacCready swallowed again, trying to keep his breathing even. “So what happens when you get bored of me? Like Gage?”

Another kiss, this one accompanied by a soft bite on MacCready’s lower lip. MacCready fought back a whimper as the Overboss’s hands lingered on his back. When he pulled away, he held MacCready’s gaze lovingly.

“Try not to think about that - It really kills the mood.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _~~Friendship with~~ Porter Gage terminated. MacCready is Nate's new best friend._
> 
> **Content Warnings:**  
>  _Graphic descriptions of violence, Unwanted sexual contact_


	3. *That First Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently ao3 fucked up by not giving *any* notification for the last chapter, not two. So Happy New Years, you guys get the first true smut chapter a few days early. If you're not interested in the NSFW part this chapter is 100% porn and 0% plot so skip away <3
> 
> Also, I have to credit at least half of this chapter to my friend [JellyFnF](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JellyFicsnFucks) who helped get the ball rolling on my Fallout4 smut. Amazingly, I started this whole new account with the idea that I wouldn't put anything too dirty on it. Shows how long that idea lasted. Thanks, Jelly, for always encouraging me to sin my rotten little soul out~  
> 
> 
> _(See end notes for content warnings)_

For some reason, his brain refused to believe what was happening. Just two days ago MacCready was a perfectly ordinary gun-for-hire living out of the back room of a bar in Goodneighbor. It wasn’t luxurious - in fact it was downright dangerous to the point that he’d made the decision to leave - but he didn’t starve, and no one tried to touch him unless they wanted to swallow their front teeth. He tried not to let too many people know he had run with the gunners, but the reputation did give him something of a safety net when it wasn’t running off business. The only ones who’d been dumb enough to try to start with him were Barnes and Winlock, both of whom had disappeared a while back. 

But here, MacCready was no longer the toughest, scariest person in the room. The Overboss had him outmatched in size, strength, and lethality. Without a gun, MacCready was about as helpless as a radroach with no legs, and even if he was armed he didn’t think it would do much good now with the Overboss’ mouth on his and MacCready’s damp shirt open to expose his chest. 

The Overboss came back up for air, face flushed and pupils dilated as he drank in MacCready’s expression. MacCready trembled in place, unable to move as the Overboss towered over him. Stalking him like a predator preparing to pounce on its prey. MacCready was going to be raped, there wasn't a doubt left in his mind, the question was how bad was it going to be, and considering the nature of the beast wrapping his hands around MacCready's waist- he shut his eyes and shuddered. 

Despite the mortal and psychologically intense terror he was experiencing - or many in part helped by it - MacCready could feel himself getting hard. The Overboss’ hands were so smooth and soft and the man was clearly experienced. The kiss had been deep and probing, leaving a soft tingle on MacCready’s tongue that shot right down to his crotch. MacCready was panting almost as hard as the Overboss, and not all of it was from fear...

His shirt was removed and his belt uncurled from around his hips; now he was left sitting, half-naked and shivering in place as the Overboss looked over him. Instead of accepting this new, terrifying reality as truth, his mind remained adamantly in denial, protecting him from the awfulness of his situation. MacCready kept his eyes on the exit as the Overboss looked him over, only to have his chin yanked back to look at the terrible man. 

“Keep your eyes on me, love,” He scolded. “I want you here with me while I make you feel good.” MacCready shuddered and grit his teeth, heart beating in his ears. 

There was no getting out of this. There were more of the Overboss' goons downstairs and the raider looming over him had no intention of just letting him walk out of here. MacCready’s eyes shut as the man's knuckles brushed his cheek, gently caressing him as though he were a prized animal or an expensive statue.

"Relax, precious," He said, "your all mine now, and I want to make you feel good." 

The Overboss's voice was drowned out for a staggering minute and MacCready heard nothing but the thump of his own heartbeat in his ears as he was pushed backward until he was lying flat on his back with the raider pinning him down. The undulating rush of blood in his chest, air pumping rapidly until he felt his lungs might pop. Deep down, MacCready was a fighter, and even though he knew his odds of surviving the night (and surviving unmolested) were slim to none, he was still looking for a way out.

He eyed the side of the bed, where the night table was pushed up against the side of the mattress. It held a few items, none of which would do him much good. Candles and empty glasses reeking of Nuka-Cola. MacCready gulped dryly, eyeing the glass as a potential weapon. The pounding in his eardrums started to sync to reality when the Overboss pressed his lips to MacCready's ear to whisper to him, "don't even think about it." Danger lurked behind those smooth tones. 

MacCready held his breath. Trapped by the Overboss's arms and pinned with the bed to his back, he couldn't even lunge for the glass if he wanted to. It was far from his reach and any slight jump towards it might trigger the Overboss into action. Stuck in his own thoughts, MacCready felt as though the insane raider's very presence had weight, pushing him back into the mattress as fear bore into his very core.

Unfortunately, shrinking in on himself made it exceedingly easy for the Overboss to take his limp arms and pull them over his head. Before MacCready had even an iota of an idea to fight back, a wet mouth was licking at his neck, sampling him like the sweetest of fruits. The Overboss sucked at his flesh, undoubtedly leaving marks that MacCready would find in the morning - assuming he survived the night. The wet slop of a tongue found his ear and a surge went through MacCready. His legs kicked out on their own as he yelled out a breathy, desperate _“no!”_.

"Shhh sh sh sh, relax," the Overboss chided, taking his disgusting mouth away from MacCready's neck. "You don't like tongue, I take it? That's fine." 

MacCready stared at the gentle face of his attacker, breathing hard. Black hair framed soft features that held MacCready’s frantic gaze like a gentle lover. MacCready felt tears in his eyes, paralyzed as he was by the other man’s attention. 

“Good man,” The Overboss praised him, “this is going to feel good for you, I promise.” The words shot through his spine and brought his cock up the last few centimeters it needed to be fully hard. He shuddered at the straining feeling of his dick pressed against the Overboss’ thigh through his underwear, forcing his hips still as the man on top of him added just a hint of friction there as he moved over him. 

Lips found their way around MacCready’s mouth again and this time he couldn’t move if he wanted to. MacCready hated how his body refused to fight back as he was violated. He couldn’t just lay here, helpless as he was used by psychotic megalomaniacs pinning him down. But even if he could thrashing was useless - he couldn't break the other man's hold on him, and his legs were far too wobbly to run.

The kiss ended with lips and teeth gently scraping across his tongue. The hands around his wrists moved down along his arms, the skin cold against his increasing body temperature. “God, you’re fucking beautiful,” The Overboss mumbled. “I’ve wanted to do this ever since I saw you in that piss-gutter of a city.” MacCready attempted to sit up on his elbows if only to keep the Overboss insight as he descended along his body, but he was forced back down onto his back. “Don’t move, precious, just let me take care of you.”

A pair of cold fingers pinched at his nipple and MacCready had finally had enough. He jerked with a cry. 

“ _Get off me, you creep!!”_ MacCready brought his hand up and shoved the Overboss’s head away with a quick smash to the nose. It hurt MacCready’s wrist far more than the Overboss’s face, but it served to let MacCready get a hold of himself. MacCready took one look at the Overboss’ expression and knew that had been a mistake.

“You know, this doesn’t have to be fun for either of us,” He snarled, reaching across the bed and opening the nightstand drawer. A hunting knife was pulled from the wooden box and MacCready scrambled to getaway. Not fast enough. The Overboss snatched him by the wrist and dragged him back along the bed as he screamed and clawed at the arm holding him in a primal frenzy. “I could hold you down at knifepoint to get what I want, but I thought hey, why not make the first time fun?” MacCready felt an elbow hit his sternum, striking the sore spot where he’d been bruised by the bullet in the gauntlet. A hand yanked his hair back as he was pressed into the mattress to expose his neck to the sharp edge of the knife. MacCready could feel his adam's apple bob against the blade as he hyperventilated with eyes squeezed shut. “Is this what you want?” The Overboss asked, mouth close to MacCready’s ear. “Do you want me to slit your throat just so I can fuck you?” 

“No,” MacCready whispered, barely audible. He felt the vibrations of his voice reverberate through the knife. “please, no.” 

“I’ve never fucked a corpse before. It doesn’t sound fun, but I’m always up to try new things. It would be a shame to lose you so soon, though. I really wanted to spend some time together before it came to this.”

MacCready was crying now, head pushed back into the springs of the mattress as far as it could go to avoid the blade. He shook his head as much as he was able, tears sliding down his face. He wasn’t ready to die just yet, that was half of the reason he’d been trying to get out of the Commonwealth in the first place. 

The blade pulled away and MacCready took a long, shuddering gasp as he sobbed in relief. The Overboss put the knife back down on the table and pressed a kiss to MacCready’s cheek. “Shh… don’t worry, I won’t hurt you tonight,” He promised. “I do want this to be fun for both of us, I just had to scare you a little.”

“monster…” MacCready cried under his breath.

“What was that, darling?” The Overboss asked. MacCready didn’t repeat himself. 

The Overboss went back to running his hands along MacCready’s exposed body, maneuvering him like a doll so that his legs were spread. Somehow he had managed to maintain his erection throughout the incident with the knife and now he could the beginnings of precum wetting his boxers. What was wrong with him? How on earth was this turning him on?

MacCready's cock twitched painfully under his trousers, spurred on by the gentle, experienced hands and his own adrenaline. MacCready’s face was red, he was sure, as he tried to keep his expression from showing just how much he _needed_ to get off. The other man groped at his limbs, palming every inch of him. MacCready wanted to resist, but the knife still sat well within the Overboss’s reach. The touches became stronger, more precise. There was some awful pleasure budding through him as thumbs pressed deep into sore muscles. A massage? 

MacCready finished the last of his sobbing and turned his head to wipe the snot and tears from his face onto the sheets. His dick ached and his balls were tight, but he managed to ignore the shameful arousal by focusing on the release of tension in his shoulders as the muscles were gently worked over by the cruel, sadistic raider. The Overboss knew exactly where his most painful injuries were, almost as if he had some sort of insight into MacCready’s body that he himself didn't. MacCready hadn’t even noticed the soreness embedded into his muscles after his death-battle and half a night curled up in the closet in damp clothes. Large hands tenderly massaged over his bruises and pressed heavy-handed rubbing across his sore muscles. His shoulder blade, where the rifle recoil hit him the worst, was eased into a calm bliss, causing the rest of his arms to go numb. 

A sound of unbridled pleasure jumped from his mouth when a certain kink in his ribs was suddenly released. MacCready’s throat caught around a groan as the pressure eased out. The pleasurable touch was enough to ease MacCready's horrified mind just a tad. How long had it been since he’d let himself be touched like this? After Lucy MacCready had been both too busy and too traumatized to seek out companionship. He missed the feeling of hands exploring his body by a loving partner seeking out his pleasure spots. This was hardly the same, but it was close. 

“Sounds like you’re finally enjoying yourself, precious.” The Overboss smiled; it seemed he wasn’t done with MacCready yet. He had been hoping against reason that the touching would stop with the massage, but the other man clearly had plans for him - it was written all over his face. No, they hadn’t even started yet.

The Overboss slid his hands around MacCready’s waist, carefully pulling away the man’s pants until all that was left between him and MacCready’s cock was a ratty set of boxers. The Overboss brought his mouth lower, nipping at MacCready’s thigh but bringing the disgraced man no further pain. MacCready twitched; he hadn’t been expecting so much softness from the guy who had held a knife to his throat not ten minutes before. Blood and brain matter still stained the skin of MacCready’s face and neck, absorbing into his pores like a lotion. 

It horrified him when the Overboss’ attention traveled to the place where his thighs met his buttock. The Overboss drew a finger across his tongue, locking eyes with MacCready as he realized the direction they were heading. MacCready jolted, getting his elbows underneath him in a desperate bid to avoid the Overboss’ advances. “Now, now, we’ve been over this,” The Overboss teased as a hand pressed down on MacCready’s chest, flattening him back down on the bed. MacCready shook his head, heart hammering in his chest. 

“Don’t…” He said. “Please, I’ll cooperate just… just not that.” 

“Oh don’t be such a baby,” The Overboss said with a tilt of his head. “I promise it won’t hurt.”

Pain was hardly the biggest issue here. MacCready continued to shake his head, backing up along the sheets until his skull bonked the wall. The Overboss watched him, more amused than impressed. He made a motion with his hand for MacCready to turn over. MacCready shook his head again. The Overboss frowned. 

“You’re going to make this difficult, aren’t you?” The Overboss said.

“I don’t wanna do this, _please_ ,” MacCready begged, still too terrified to openly defy the other man but unable to leave his opinion unvoiced for any longer. The Overboss made a noise and somewhere between frustrated and amused as he moved forward regardless.

“Lucky for you, I like a challenge,” he said, wrapping his fingers around MacCready’s underwear and yanking them down to his ankles despite his protests. He dragged the man down the bed by his exposed thigh. MacCready's fingers dug into the sheets and pulling them with him between panicked breaths. “Thaaat’s it.” The Overboss chuckled, taking in the sight of MacCready’s lower half. His cock had wilted some but was still going strong, the tip smeared with residue from his arousal. It seemed MacCread’s body was still unsure about how to feel about the situation, despite MacCready’s certainty that this was wrong. The Overboss ran his unearthly smooth fingers over his swollen balls, thumbing the crease. MacCready seized up, eyes shut as he muttered unintelligibly. It nearly hurt how much his body responded to the touch. The vain along his dick pulsed in time with his rapidly beating heart. The Overboss chuckled. “I’ve found that sex with men is far better than that with those of a fairer disposition,” He said. “It takes a man to know what a man likes - there are a lot of surprises hidden in the male anatomy. For instance…” 

MacCready yelped as the Overboss’ free hand slipped under his backside. A finger slid inside him before he could object. A burst of pleasure hit MacCready's spine as the finger pressed against his insides; it was only by the power of MacCready’s mortal terror that he managed not to come right then. MacCready panted and squirmed and tried to move away. The grip around his balls tightened, making MacCready feel like a dog on a leash; there was no way he could thrash or move while the psychopath had him tethered by his most sensitive parts. 

“Bet no one’s touched you down here before…” A grating whisper mumbled the words against his neck. The Overboss bit down on the soft flesh there. His mouth helped clean the filth and gore there, making the exposed skin so much more delicate and sensitive. The feeling of his warm tongue made MacCready want to gag.

On his back, MacCready couldn't do much more than flounder uselessly, legs spasming as fingers explored his scrotum. Hot breath against the nape of MacCready’s neck sent a shiver up his spine. 

“God, please… I just… I… I can’t...” MacCready babbled, needy and helpless. His toes twitched and his thighs spasmed at the touches. He needed to come, but he was too afraid. Every time he shuddered, so close and begging release, his eyes would catch the face of the man molesting him and his body would seize with fear, denying him an ending to his torment. All he could do was pant as his eyes rolled up and crossed like a horny virgin. “Ah... ah….”

“Fuck that’s sexy,” The Overboss breathed.

A pair of fingers circle around the digit stuck inside him, rubbing and scratching at the spot. The movement helped coax the muscle to loosen. MacCready squeezed his eyes tight, a sob catching in his throat as tears sprung to his eyes. Despite it all, he was only becoming more aroused by the second. His fingers dug into the beg as his hole was violated and he momentarily choked on his own spit. The Overboss’ index finger flexed inside him and MacCready’s cock jumped to attention; the smallest gasp escaped his mouth as he melted into the touch. He felt his cock smack his abs with an obscene jerk of his hips, leaving a print of pre-cum where it hit. “F- fuu- hnng,” He winced, biting the corner of his lip to keep the sound from pouring out. 

“Oh, that sounded _good_ , sweet thing,” The Overboss’ voice was in his ear again, betraying his own arousal. “We haven’t even started and you look ready to burst.” 

He didn’t want to give in to the horrible, hedonic feeling, but when the Overboss wrapped his warm palm around his shaft he couldn’t resist lifting his hips in greed towards the sudden strike of pleasure. He grit his teeth, tasting blood from a bite in his cheek, hating himself - hating how his body was reacting. Hating how strange and awful and pleasurable this all felt. 

MacCready had known since he was a kid that boys were attractive. Girls were more fun to date, but there was something about guys - with their slightly larger muscles and fuzzy faces and rough skin - that always caught MacCready’s attention. Of course, if anyone in Little Lamplight had ever found out he would have been teased mercilessly - quite possibly even kicked out - so MacCready had only ever allowed himself to be attracted to girls. Had he been missing out? Under different circumstances (very, _very_ different circumstances) MacCready hated to admit it, but this would be nice. 

The Overboss gave MacCready’s testes one last squeeze before exploring elsewhere. his hand trailed up the root of his cock, lingering with every touch to the sensitive skin there. A finger squirmed its way around the foreskin to stroke at the sensitive glans at the head of his cock. On the other side of him, a second finger found its way inside of MacCready’s clenched hole, embedded up to the knuckle before a quick flex struck his prostate and made MacCready see stars. It was like a switch and without warning the tension left muscles, leading MacCready to smack his head against the wall as his attention was diverted to waves upon waves of pleasure filling his senses. MacCready couldn’t help the reaction he had; he choked and sobbed as he could no longer hold back the tears. Still, his overstimulated body refused to ejaculate. Some of the pressure had left his cock, but the treacherous thing was still stiff. The touch on his cock went from immeasurably wonderful to near painful with overstimulation; MacCready tried to scream but found he could only cry. 

“Stop, stop, stop, _please, please just stop!_ ” MacCready shook his head, closing his eyes fast as the tears came out unabated. This wasn’t happening. This couldn't be happening. Not to him. He’d survived every hell the wasteland had thrown at him - ghouls, gunners, raiders, super mutants… MacCready never thought that he would allow himself to submit to being humiliated like this. Two days ago he would have liked to think he’d have fought; even if nothing was accomplished by it MacCready would know he’d done everything in his power to stop himself from being violated by someone so terrible. So what if he died? This was worse than death.

He felt the dreadful kindle of pleasure bubble up in his abdomen again. A knot forming and coiling inside him. 

Much to MacCready’s surprise, the fingers slid out of him. MacCready wasted no time and slammed his legs shut, pulling away from the Overboss. He brought his knees up to his chest to cover up his erection as he struggled to get a hold of himself. Despite the sobs still clawing through him, he managed to glare at the Overboss who, much to his surprise, was looking at MacCready with kind, sympathetic eyes. 

“Too much?” He said. MacCready snarled at the man and his faux-compassion. The Overboss smiled. “That was just the preparations, darling. I don’t want to split you in half when I break the virgin seal on that little boy pussy of yours.”

MacCready gave him a genuine look of confusion. Boy pussy? What on earth was he…?

MacCready watched as the Overboss shuffled out of his own pants and freed his own erection from his underwear. MacCready’s eyes widened and all of the heat he’d felt in him died and gave way to icy cold dread. 

“No... no wait…” MacCready shook his head, back pressed against the wall as the Overboss crawled across the bed towards him. “You’re not gonna…”

“Sure am,” The Overboss said with a wink and a chuckle. He placed both arms on either side of MacCready, pinning him against the wall. “Now then, why don’t you make this easier on us both and spread your legs for me - or am I going to have to get the knife.”

The last thing MacCready remembered clearly was a series of short, panicked breaths. After that everything became a blur of movements and screams. Somewhere in him, he knew that he was going to get himself killed, and if it were between rape and death he would still choose the option that let him keep breathing just a little longer. But MacCready was no longer in control of himself; panic had overwritten his core and now all he could do was thrash and scream and struggle.

When he became aware again, MacCready found himself with an arm around his torso clutching him to the bare chest of the Overboss. He was practically in the man’s lap, leaned back so that his hair could be gently stroked as the man murmured to him soothingly. 

“There, there,” He said in MacCready’s ear. “I can be patient. I won’t touch you there anymore. I promise.”

MacCready took deep breaths, trying to catch his breath. “You’re not… not gonna…?”

“Not tonight, precious,” The Overboss pressed a kiss to MacCready’s clean-shaven cheek. “We can finish up here if you want. I’m afraid I may have rushed things just a bit.” 

MacCready nodded, exhaustion, fear, and misery leaving him with his head hung. Unfortunately, the arms around him did not release; instead, their attention went lower and soon the Overboss was palming at MacCready’s softened cock. The appendage twitched at the attention, re-awoken from its panic-induced nap. MacCready squirmed, but the Overboss’s grip on him stayed firm.

“Shhh, it’s alright,” The Overboss said. “I’m just finishing, relax. This will only take a minute.” 

MacCready could feel the Overboss’s length rub against his spin. There was movement behind him as the Overboss clutched at his own erection as he jerked slowly and carefully at MacCready’s. It seemed he wasn’t going to end this without an orgasm from both of them. MacCready shut his eyes and endured; at the very least it sounded like the Overboss wasn’t planning to follow through with stabbing him tonight if he planned to have MacCready some other time. He wondered which was worse - dying and then being raped, or being raped then dying? 

The handjob was well-practiced - The Overboss was either really popular with other men or spent a lot of nights alone. He had a cute face when he wasn’t being evil, MacCready could absolutely see how a guy like that would get other guys. A sick thought came to mind as MacCready wondered what would have happened if the Overboss had expressed interest in MacCready back before he became so well known for his destructive sadism. It was entirely possible that a guy like that could have tricked MacCready; MacCready wasn’t under any self-delusions about his intellect, and he’d been duped before. It could have so easily been him shot and dead on the terrace floor, face stuck in bewildered betrayal while the Overboss nailed his replacement in the next room.

Thoughts like that were just making it harder to come. MacCready tried to focus on the sensations in his body - the feeling of the hand on his shaft, the tightening of his balls. If he ignored the whispered paintings of the man behind him, MacCready could pretend this was literally anyone else and maybe then he could get off. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” The Overboss muttered, digging his teeth into the collarbone of his little toy. “Think you can do a little begging for me?” The Overboss asked. MacCready didn’t want to do one single thing for the man jerking him off, and the Overboss must have guessed it because next he said, “If you do, I think I might just come.”

Anything to get this over with, MacCready guessed. MacCready was normally talkative during sex anyways, so it wasn’t hard to get started.

“Keep going,” MacCready muttered, closing his eyes. He leaned his head back so that his hair was pressed against the Overboss’ shoulder. “Please, just keep touching me. I need it. Fu-mmhm, yeah right there.” 

“You’re such a needy little thing, even you try to hide it,” The Overboss twisted up his dick, putting just a bit of warm pressure on MacCready’s head. He jumped, body recharging incredibly fast. It took less than a minute for him to be back at the edge, this time in a far more familiar and comfortable way. MacCready knew what to do with these feelings and pressed into them, momentarily forgetting the ‘who’ and ‘what’ of his surroundings.

“I’m close, I’m close,” MacCready breathed. One last pull and he was there, moaning and crying out unrestrained. He shot his load out over the hand still pumping him, the wet semen slicking the hand as the Overboss helped him ride through. The man behind him wasn’t far behind, coming quietly with another bite to MacCready’s shoulder, this one much harder and painful enough to MacCready yell as teeth dented his muscle. He felt thick liquid hit the small of his back; soon he was covered in the other man’s come. Shame crept into the cracks of his post-orgasm high and MacCready felt the intense urge to scrape the evidence of what had happened off his back. 

A wet hand came up and grabbed MacCready’s hair, pulling his head back to capture his mouth in a forceful kiss. The feeling was far too similar to having his neck exposed to the knife, and MacCready squirmed so he could check to make sure the blade was still on the nightstand.

“Fuck,” The man murmured, reluctantly pulling his mouth away from his little catch. “You are every bit the man I hoped you’d be, MacCready.”

MacCready had several retorts to that. ‘Happy to impress’, ‘Of course, I’m the best after all’, ‘Aw, I bet you say that to all the guys you rape at knifepoint.’ But even without the threat of a painful, sudden death if he pissed the man off, MacCready was tired. For the first time in his life, he didn’t feel like being sarcastic. MacCready said nothing and sobbed as the Overboss crudely cleaned him off and coaxed him to lie down next to him in bed. He draped an arm over his catch, stroking MacCready’s hair and rubbing his back. 

“You did good,” The Overboss said. “You should get some rest. It’ll be morning soon, but I assume you slept some in the closet.”

“Yeah,” MacCready answered, sniffing and rubbing his nose into the filthy pillow.

“Then you should sleep a little more in a proper bed,” The Overboss pressed a kiss to MacCready’s cheek before turning over and pulling the covers around them both. “Sleep well, MacCready. I’ll have some things for us to do in the morning.” 

MacCready stared at the wall, wide awake as the Overboss fell asleep beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Warnings:** Rape (explicit non-con), knive play, ignored rejection, crying, forced orgasm


	4. Arrangements

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter time!!
> 
> I updated the description just a bit. I wasn't happy with the old one, and I'm still not happy with this one, but I'm probably not going to change it again. Ah well.
> 
> Enjoy~
> 
> _(No major content warnings for this chapter)_

MacCready didn’t sleep. He clutched the soft pillow to his chest and kept his back to the psychotic man resting beside him. He watched flakes of blood and brain tumble from his greasy hair and onto the pillowcase, waiting for the Overboss’ breath to even out so he could slink outside. He wasn’t stupid enough to think of trying to escape a theme park filled with raiders and risk pissing off the man who’d shot someone because he thought they were 'boring', but MacCready didn’t want to spend any more time in this room. 

When he felt fairly certain the Overboss was asleep, MacCready rolled his legs over the side of the bed and tip-toed over to his discarded clothes. Looking over himself he was a mess; various body fluids stained his body - some from him, some from dead people, some from the man quietly snoring in the bed next to him. MacCready decided to pull on his boxers and his undershirt and leave the rest of his clothes for after he’d gotten a chance to wipe off some of the blood, gore, and unmentionables. 

He tip-toed across the room and pulled open the door. For a moment MacCready was worried that the thing was jammed - the knob was entirely broken and splinters of what used to be the lock were shoved into the frame to keep the door stuck on the wall. Thankfully, MacCready was able to slide through after a little finagling. 

The air in the open rooftop was at the tipping point of being cold. The sun wasn’t up yet but the sky was an ashy blue over the expansive wasteland. MacCready could hear the sounds of people running about below him, raiders talking to one another and pulling about carts to carry loot from one place to the other. It felt a lot like being back in one of the capital cities, except instead of being surrounded by merchants and settlers the ambient noise was coming from bloodthirsty savages who would gut him alive given half the chance.

MacCready felt the cold of the tiles through the holes in his socks as he walked to the balcony. The fresh air felt amazing; his face was hot and the cool breeze against his forehead was exactly what he needed to feel human again. He took deep breaths in an attempt to keep his mind occupied. In, out. In, out. Every so often MacCready would catch the smell of something putrid. It took over a minute for him to realize it was coming from the corpse beginning to rot on the other side of the terrace. He cringed and tried to put the memory out of mind.

It didn’t take long for the chilled air to go from pleasant to tolerable to simply cold. MacCready shivered and this time it mostly came from the temperature rather than his own cowardice. He paced, arms wrapped around his middle until he found an old chest with a jacket still inside. It hung off his small frame like a robe and itched in several places, but it kept him warm. He found a chair sat next to a table with a lighter and a half-full pack of cigarettes. Those probably belonged to Gage - the man wouldn’t be missing them now, he supposed. MacCready pulled a stick from the pack with trembling hands and stuck it in his mouth, cupping the lighter and flicking it on. The flame danced in his shaky grip, but he managed to get a light. The smell of tobacco masked the odor of death from the cigarette’s previous owner, and the feeling of smoke in his lungs warmed him up from the inside out.

Lucy had _hated_ it when he smoked. She made him stop, but he never really kicked the habit. It was another lie he had told her so she wouldn’t leave him, one he’d never know if she believed now that she was gone.

MacCready leaned on the rail of the balcony and pulled, burning through half the cigarette in one go. When it was burnt up he went for another, and after that a third. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't chase away the images of what had just happened. He could still feel hands on him, around him, _in_ him. The Overboss' mouth on his, violating his mouth, the threat of death hanging over him if MacCready dared refuse...

“I was wondering where you got off to.”

The sound made MacCready start internally, but thankfully he was starting to become accustomed to the Overboss’ voice appearing out of nowhere. He did little more than sigh, not even bothering to turn around.

“I'm gonna have to put a bell on you,” MacCready commented, too exhausted to be afraid. “You’re way too quiet when you walk.” 

The Overboss laughed and MacCready felt arms wrap around him from behind. He refused to let his body respond to the touch, to give this man the pleasure of seeing him upset, no matter how much he wanted to gag. MacCready shut his eyes and focused on the taste of the cigarette in his mouth. 

“I’ve been told I’m pretty sneaky,” He said, putting a kiss on MacCready’s cheek. “I just came out to check on you, make sure you didn’t do anything stupid.” 

MacCready shrugged, sighing just a little when the Overboss’ arms were finally removed from around his waist. The cold was beginning to sink back into him and he had to bite back a shiver. “I’m not doing anything,” MacCready said. “Just wanted a smoke.”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t make a habit of that,” The Overboss said. MacCready could imagine the wrinkled nose face being pulled behind him. “It's a nasty habit; besides, it smells awful.” 

“Beats the smell of rotting Raider,” MacCready said. 

The Overboss was silent for a moment, then let out a quiet “ah” as he figured out what MacCready was referring to. He looked over Gage's corpse distastefully. “Right, that. I’ll have to move the body at some point.” He said. “There’s a pit out back for the remains of raiders who die, but I may just donate him to the Pack - they have their dogs on a strict diet of human meat, which can be hard to come by on a regular basis, even for them.”

“Neat,” MacCready said, unable to stomach thinking about what was just said. He felt nauseous as it was, and after everything he’d been through in the last twenty-four hours he didn’t want to add throwing up his own stomach acid to the list. “So long as you don’t make me drag ‘im around.” 

“Not unless you want to,” The Overboss said. MacCready listened to the sound of footsteps retreating back into the terrace. He hoped that the Overboss was going to go back to bed, but of course, the footsteps only stopped to be replaced by the sounds of rummaging through cabinets. MacCready turned to see the man bent over and combing through something under the bar. He pulled out a pot and a box of preserved mac-and-cheese. MacCready felt his stomach growl. 

“You hungry?” The Overboss asked. “I don’t really eat these days, but I figured I’d show you where the stove was.”

MacCready swallowed his flooding saliva and nodded. “Haven’t ate anything in two days,” He admitted. 

“Oh, you poor thing,” The Overboss said without a hint of sarcasm in his tones. “The stove is against the back wall. I have fresh fruits and veggies in the boxes next to it and a cooler of meat under the bar. And of course, this place is filled with Nuka-Cola. Help yourself.” 

MacCready nodded, eyeing the food. He watched the man lay out everything he would need to make himself a breakfast of mac-and-cheese with mirelurk omelets and brahman sausage. It took a lot of restraint for MacCready to wait until the Overboss left the room before he dove into the food. He ate an entire ‘tato in two bites, feeling the juice run down his jaw. The aftertaste of cigarettes and a few days of starvation made the normally disgusting vegetable tolerable. He ate through just about everything that could be scarfed down raw while waiting for the stove to heat up to cook the rest.

MacCready sipped on one of the exotic flavors of Nuka-Cola that he’d never seen before while he watched the water heat up in a pot. With his head now clear, MacCready tried his best to think on a way out of this mess. There weren’t many avenues of escape. The raiders here would tear him apart if he tried to leave, he was certain of that. Was that really any worse than what the Overboss would do to him if he stayed? ...Yes. The Overboss shot Gage in the head - the man died instantly and painlessly, which would be a far cry from what the raiders would do to him. There was the matter of the _other_ activities the Overboss had in mind, but there was also no guarantee that would be avoided by running either. Raiders were raiders, after all. Not to mention the fact that even if he did manage to sneak away, MacCready had no idea where he was. The train that brought him here had looped around so many times, and from what he’d seen on the way in, the wastes in this part of the world were far less hospitable than in the Capitol or the Commonwealth - and that was saying something. 

So for now his best option was to stay on the Overboss’ good side and keep his eyes open for any opportunity to leave. There were worse ways to get stuck; not many, but some existed, and unfortunately almost all of them were his alternative. MacCready was physically unharmed, unrestrained, and allowed to eat whatever he wanted from the kitchen. He thought back on what the Overboss told him. ‘ _I don’t really eat these days’_ were his exact words. It was a weird thing to say, for sure, but the guy was a sociopathic murder and a rapitst, MacCready felt it was weird that so much of what the dude said made sense. 

The splintered door cracked as the Overboss opened it ever so slightly. 

“Oh, and just to be clear,” He said, poking his head out to look at the merc propped against the counter. “If you run I’ll hunt you down like a stag with a neck wound and make you wish you were never born.”

“ ‘kay,” MacCready said, gesturing with his hand. The Overboss nodded.

“Also there’s running water in the showers if you want to wash up.”

“Thanks.” 

MacCready heard the door pull shut as he sipped at the cola. He wished he’d found something alcoholic under the counter. Never in his life had MacCready needed a drink more than now. 

\---

One breakfast and a shower later, MacCready was back in his old clothes pacing the balcony. He’d gone through the entire pack of cigarettes over breakfast. He doubted he would be getting more, since the Overboss didn’t seem to like the smell, so he decided he might as well get rid of them in one go rather than try to ration them. The sun came up with an awful glare over the balcony of what he now realized was less of a roof-top terrace and more of an indoor-outdoor restaurant that operated before the war. What idiot designed a diner with an east-facing view? MacCready had to squint to keep the sun out of his eyes. 

Now that he had thoroughly searched the restaurant-turned-apartment - coming up with little of interest besides a Nuka-Cola themed deck of cards and some exotic flavors of soda - MacCready found himself at a loss for what to do. It had been a long time since he’d had time to do nothing; normally he was either out looking for jobs, doing those jobs, or trying to survive whatever hellstorm the Commonwealth tried to throw at him. Every second that wasn’t going into getting caps was spent planning his entry to Med-Tek - a dream he’d now all but abandoned. There was never really any hope that MacCready was going to get that cure anyways, and now that he’d become a glorified ‘pet’ for the clear winner of the title ‘Craziest Man In The Commonwealth’ there wasn’t any reason to assume he’d get a chance to try for the cure again. 

MacCready felt his eyes swell with tears and rubbed at them furiously. He didn’t want to cry anymore; he felt pathetic enough as it was, no use thinking about what a failure of a father he was too. Not only was he not able to save his son, he wasn’t going to be able to spend those last few months Duncan had left with him. MacCready should have just stayed in the Capitol. If he’d known just how bad things could get he wouldn’t have even thought about leaving. 

With nothing left to do and exhaustion still pulling at him, MacCready ended up laying down in the bed that was tucked away in the corner of the terrace. Judging by the effects that were around, it used to belong to the dead raider. MacCready wished he had gotten a chance to talk to the guy before the Overboss shot him, if only so he could know what he was in for. They had seemed close, barring the last few seconds before the bullet entered Gage’s skull - Gage really hadn’t seemed like he was afraid of his boss at all. His death was probably as shocking to him as it was to MacCready. 

MacCready closed his eyes, shifting onto his side so the sunrise glare wouldn’t catch his eyes. He had been certain he wouldn’t end up falling asleep, but after only a short eternity he actually did start to feel tired. Just as he was about to settle into a true slumber he heard the broken door crack open and his name called. 

“We really need to get that fixed,” The Overboss said, putting the splintered door back on its hinges. MacCready sighed and sat up. He’d managed to kill at least an hour or two, since the sun was now a little higher and the wine-red dawn sky was replaced by jet blue. 

“What’s up?” MacCready mumbled, rubbing an eye. 

“I’m heading out to take care of some business in the market,” He said. “I was thinking you should come with, get acquainted with the locals. There’s a doctor in the marketplace, you should probably stop in for a quick check-up. The gauntlet is filthy and probably filled with diseases.”

“Right,” MacCready slid off the bed. “Whatever you say, boss.” 

The Overboss frowned but said nothing. MacCready stuck his hands in his pockets and rounded the bend to follow behind the maniac while he did whatever insane errands someone like him had to run. The Overboss gave him a once over, then stuck his hand into the chest pocket to retrieve his gun.

“ _Wait!!_ Don’t-”

“Relax, I’m not going to shoot you,” The Overboss sighed. “Honestly, I had hoped you’d be a lot less jumpy. You’re like a radroach on Psycho.” MacCready clutched his chest; he was certain that by the end of the week he’d have a chronic heart condition. He never took his eyes off the well-maintained pistol as The Overboss withdrew the deadly weapon. He gave the gun a once over then held it out for MacCready to take. 

MacCready stared at the pistol, then looked to the Overboss. 

“Take it,” The Overboss said. He sounded like he was trying to coax an animal to eat a treat. “This place can be dangerous if you aren’t armed. I assume you know how to shoot a pistol?” 

“I… do,” MacCready said slowly. He reached for the gun, still partly expecting it to be yanked away and used on him. It wasn’t, and just like that MacCready was holding the weapon that had killed his predecessor not twelve hours ago. It was a good weapon - a silenced 10mm with a medium-sized clip. A quick check revealed that it was still loaded. _‘Deliverer’_ was engraved on the body with painted gold grooves. “And you’re… giving this to me?” 

“Mhmm,” The Overboss hummed, “like I said, this is a theme park full of raiders - most of them know better than to mess with me, but even under my protection they may try to ‘size you up’ and it’s better safe than sorry.” 

“So you’re giving me a gun?” MacCready said, still unable to believe there wasn’t more to this.

The Overboss’ frown deepened. “Yes, I did,” He said, “and if you’re thinking of using that on me, don’t bother. You couldn’t hurt me with that thing if you tried.”

MacCready was pretty sure even the most powerful man on the planet couldn’t survive a shot to the back of the head point-blank, but there was the matter of the other raiders to think of. If MacCready did assassinate the Overboss there would probably be hell to pay; he had to remember that this guy was the only thing standing between him and being skinned alive by the semi-feral raiders outside. That was probably the real reason why the Overboss was trusting him with a gun.

“Are you ready to go then?” The Overboss asked. MacCready checked the safety and pocketed the gun. 

“Sure, boss,” He said, falling into step behind the man as he boarded the elevator with some hesitation. Being afraid of heights while standing next to the man probably already planning his murder seemed incredibly stupid, but MacCready couldn’t help feeling a little nauseous as the rickety wooden platform brought them down. 

\---

MacCready had expected to follow the Overboss around for the rest of the day, acting as his leashed pet to be shown off to the raiders. He had not dared to hope - or fear - that he would be left alone to wander the park, and yet as soon as they made it to the center of the ‘town’ the Overboss turned him loose in the marketplace while he went off to take care of some unknown business.

 _“Mackenzie’s stand is right over there,”_ He had said, handing over fifty caps to a shocked MacCready. _“She can give you a once over and treat that bruise on your chest. After that feel free to shop around - just don’t leave the marketplace. The raiders can be pretty rough on the newcomers.”_

MacCready stood in the square, taking in the sights. He had been pretty apprehensive about being seen by a raider doctor, but from the looks of things, all of the ‘traders’ here were actually just slaves, if the explosive collars they had on were any indicator. MacCready wondered if he was going to end up in one of those at some point. 

The place was like nowhere he’d ever seen before in his life. The place felt like a life-sized city of dollhouses put together by a kid who liked Nuka-Cola a little too much. In between gory raider-style decorations, there were statues of caps and bottle-shaped monoliths. The combination felt like something straight out of a drug-fueled nightmare. The marketplace was a lot less flamboyant, but it still had a Nuka-Cola theme plastered on just about every surface. 

There were a lot fewer raiders in there than there were on the walkover. MacCready had kept his back straight and his eyes firm; he had a feeling any show of weakness would end up getting him in trouble around here. It was nice to finally let the act drop just a tad as he walked through the vendor stations and wedged his way between traders and slaves. He followed the directions given to him by the Overboss and found the first aid station. A woman in her late thirties sat in a chair, flipping through an old medical journal. When MacCready approached she looked up, forcing a smile.

“Hi there, can I help-” Her eyes caught sight of MacCready’s hat and widened. “Oh- oh! M-mayor MacCready.” She stammered, immediately turning her eyes down. “What can I do for you, sir?”

MacCready suddenly felt uncomfortable. He recalled what the Overboss had said at the tournament - the man had shouted out a lot of personal information about MacCready, some of which he wasn’t exactly proud of. The people here probably thought he was some sort of ruthless monster.

“I’m just here for a check-up. The boss thinks I might need one after running the gauntlet,” MacCready said, taking a seat in the patient's chair at the stand. “And it’s _former_ mayor, actually. I left Little Lamplight a long time ago.”

“I see,” She said, still not looking him in the eye. She reached under her counter and brought out a kit. Needles, IVs, pills - she riffled through the bag, deciding on which tests were necessary and what tools she might need. The silence stretched, leaving MacCready feeling awkward. It might be in his better interest to go along with the Overboss’ description of himself - play the part of a ruthless gunner who would shoot anyone who made the mistake of messing with him - but MacCready had left the gunners for a reason. He just didn't have it in him to be so cruel, and the idea of going back to being that person made him sick.

“You’re name’s Mackenzie, right?” MacCready said. The woman nodded. “It’s a nice name. I was wondering if you could help me get the lay of the land. The boss didn’t exactly tell me much before dropping me off here.” 

Mackenzie’s brows furrowed, probably trying to decide if MacCready was genuine or not. “Well, uh, what exactly do you want to know?”

MacCready shrugged. “Honestly, to start I’d like to know what the he-heck this place is. It’s like some shrine to soda or something.”

Mackenzie seemed equal parts confused and amused. “You don’t know?” She asked, getting just a bit bolder.

“No idea,” MacCready admitted. “I ended up here on accident. I used to live in the Commonwealth, but that place has gone to sh-crap, so I decided to try to get out as fast as I can.”

“I thought you were with the gunners?” Mackenzie said. MacCready grimaced, looking away.

“Was. Left them and didn’t look back,” He said. “They were a bunch of sadistic nutcases.”

Mackenzie nodded. “Well, you might have been better off staying with them than coming here, if that’s the case - roll up your sleeve for me please,” The doctor wrapped a rubber string around his arm and felt for a vein. “The raiders here all have their own style, but they’re far more vicious than the ones in the Commonwealth. There’s the Pack, who seem to think they’re all animals - or at least act like it.”

“Those the guys in the weird masks?” MacCready asked, closing an eye so he wouldn’t have to watch the needle go in. 

“Yeah, that's them. They run a zoo where they keep all kinds of wild animals and people to pit against each other in death matches.”

“That’s sick.”

Mackenzie sighed. “They aren’t even the worst ones; the Disciples have that honor. They have a cult-like mentality about killing. Then there’s the Operators, who are just in it for the caps.”

“Huh,” MacCready said, rubbing his fingers over the bandage where his blood had been drawn. “And the Nuka-Cola stuff?” 

Mackenzie smiled. “That’s from before the war. Apparently, this place was some sort of park that people would take their kids to. I don’t know much about it, but there’s some girl wandering around in weird glasses who would be happy to talk your ear off about this place.”

“Weird,” MacCready said. “This doesn’t exactly seem like the kind of place raiders would want to set up shop in.” 

“The park is pretty large and surrounded by defenses,” Mackenzie said. “That’s why the original settlers came here, back when this was just a trading post. Then Porter Gage showed up with Colter and his small army of raider gangs, and, well, the rest is history.”

“Porter Gage was the leader?” MacCready asked, stunned. “I thought the Overboss was in charge.”

“He is,” Mackenzie said. “But all of this was Porter’s idea. Taking over the park, the peace treaty between the raider factions, installing Nate as the new Overboss - everyone knows he’s the one running the show around here.”

“Not anymore,” MacCready said with a distasteful sneer. “He’s dead.”

Mackenzie’s fingers, which had been fiddling with some device, came to a dead stop. She turned to look MacCready in the eye. 

“Are you serious?” She asked, eyes wide. “H-how? When?”

“Last night. Overboss shot him,” MacCready answered. Part of him wondered if it was really a good idea to be talking about this, but he assumed that the Overboss wasn’t going to hide Gage’s disappearance for long. He'd heard the man ask a few of the lower-level raiders to get rid of the body not long ago - and to fix that door while they were at it.

“That’s… wow. I can’t believe…” Mackenzie shook her head. “Well, it’s none of my business anyways.” MacCready watched as Mackenzie tapped away at the buttons and switches on her device, conversation apparently forgotten. A light flashed green and she smiled.

“No infections, that’s good,” She said. “But your system is pretty bogged down with chems - I bet that’s from the gauntlet, huh? It seemed like a rough match from the radio.”

“Yeah,” MacCready nodded. “I may have went through a few stimpacks to keep going.”

“More than a few from the look of things - take it easy on the chems for a while, they’ll weaken your immune system,” Mackenzie warned. MacCready wasn’t sure what an immune system was, but he didn’t want his to be weak. He just nodded along. 

“Thanks, doc,” He said, fishing out half the caps from the bag the Overboss gave him. Mackenzie hesitated before taking them, as though she might have refused them if she could. MacCready’s eyes fell on the collar around her neck. Poor girl - he felt sorry for her, not that he was in a much better position himself. He stood up, feeling just a bit dizzy from the blood loss. “Is there anywhere around here that serves drinks that ain’t Nuka-themed?”

“There's a chem stand over there. If anyone had booze it's Maddox,” Mackenzie told him. MacCready thanked her and was just about to leave when Mackenzie spoke up again. “Wait- ah- um,” MacCready watched her face. She was indecisive, uncertain, but eventually decided to go for it. “You don’t want to be here either, right?” She said, voice just above a whisper. “You’re not one of them - the raiders, I mean.”

MacCready’s mouth twitched. “It’s… complicated,” he said. 

“Please, if you can - if you ever get the chance,” Mackenzie’s eyes were wide, hopeful, “Please, _please_ help us.” 

MacCready took a deep breath and shook his head. “I can’t. Sorry,” he said, and he meant it, even if the words sounded hollow. “I gotta look out for myself here.”

The hope faded from the doctor’s eyes and she stepped back. “Right, yeah, I get that,” She said glumly. “It’s like that for everyone these days, isn't it.”

“It was nice talking to you, Kenzie,” MacCready said with a tip of his hat.

“Likewise,” She said, sitting back down at her desk. “Welcome to Nuka-World. Good Luck.” 

MacCready strolled across the marketplace, eyes set on the counter with a twitchy looking slave passing out chems. It didn’t exactly look like the kind of place someone would sit down for a drink at, but then again what had MacCready been expecting? He looked down at the caps he had left. Twenty caps - he hoped it would be enough to get him drunk; this was not a day he wanted to be sober for. 

A man bumped into his shoulder. MacCready was fine with just walking it off, except a meaty hand came down on his arm, staggering him. 

“Hey there, Green Hat,” The man said from behind his mask. He was dressed like a pink-and-blue tiger and had teeth that looked like they’d been filed down to points. Must be part of that ‘Pack’ Mackenzie mentioned. MacCready was sure the tiger guy thought he looked intimidating, but honestly if MacCready wasn’t certain the guy would snap him in half, he would be laughing. He looked ridiculous. 

“The name’s MacCready,” MacCready growled, shoving the hand off him. He knew this guy’s type; all bluster and bravado - thinks he’s a lot better than he is. MacCready would bet caps that this a-hole was on the lower rungs of his gang. MacCready had experience dealing with his kind in the gunners, so he set his face stern and shoved against the bulky man. “Out of my way.”

“You think yer tough shit? Just because the Overboss’ got some kind crush on you?” The man growled, leaning over to emphasize his height advantage. MacCready couldn’t wince at the words and keep his act up at the same time, so he bit his tongue. “You reek of omega - a prey animal like you shouldn’t be walking around without its alpha to protect it.”

“What the heck are you talking about?” MacCready said. “Move, weirdo.” He shoved past the man, who responded by putting himself in front of MacCready again and grabbing his arm. People were staring. The two locked eyes, glaring at each other. MacCready’s hand reached down for the gun in his pocket. 

“You, Cat!” Another voice entered the fray - this one bold and commanding. As soon as it did the other man let go of MacCready’s arm and stood down. 

“Mason!” The man said, addressing a man wearing excessive face paint and a bone necklace who had emerged from the crowd. “I was just chattin’ with the newbie, seein’ if he was the tough shit the Overboss said he was.” 

Mason, who MacCready was certain was the leader of these freaks, glared at his subordinate. “Did I tell you to go work over the Overboss’ new pet?” He snarled. 

“I’m not his pet,” MacCready objected with a hiss, putting on a bravado of his own. He hoped he didn’t look as shaky as he felt. The last thing he needed was to show these guys he could be walked all over when the Overboss was not around, even if he really just wanted to slink away undetected. 

“Shut it, beta-male. If wanted to hear shit from you I’d’ve fucking asked.” MacCready decided to stay quiet.

“It’s his fault anyway,” The man in the tiger mask said. “He ran right fuckin’ into me. I just wanted to remind him of his place here. He ain’t a raider, he ain’t a gunner, he ain’t shit.”

“I think the one who's forgotten their place here is you,” The pack leader growled. In a swift movement, he unbuckled his shotgun from his side and swung it forward. Before the other raider could get out more than a “wait- stop!” a blast of shotgun pellets had replaced one of his knee caps. 

MacCready stepped back, watching the man scream and writhe on the ground. Mackenzie rushed forward, medkit in hand, but she was stopped in her tracks by Mason. 

“Anyone fucking helps him they get fed to the dogs,” He warned. The crowd just stared at the man, then one by one the people went back to their shops. Dejected, Mackenzie watched the man bleed with tired eyes. 

Mason turned to MacCready, glaring at him with nostrils flared. For once, MacCready was glad that the Overboss had decided he was important because that seemed to be the only thing holding the feral man from tearing him apart one limb at a time. MacCready lost his nerve and looked away, which seemed to end the tension quickly.

“Watch yourself, beta-male,” Mason growled. “Don’t you forget who’s in charge here. The Overboss may run things from up on top that mountain of his, but we’re the ones who got the power in this place. You better show a little fuckin’ respect to your betters, you understand?” 

“Got it,” MacCready ground out through gritted teeth. His eyes remained locked on the ground. 

“Good,” Mason said, disappearing back into the crowd. The dying raider was still screaming, but everyone just walked around him. The vendors didn’t seem to even notice. Mackenzie was back at her station with her head in her hands. 

MacCready stepped over the twitching limbs of the man who had run into him earlier and walked over to the Chem station. 

“Please tell me you got somethin’ to drink here,” MacCready asked the man who was clearly higher than a kite. 

“Heh, I think I can set you up,” The red-head snickered to himself as the last of the tiger-masked Raider’s screams died off. 

\---

As it turns out, twenty caps was exactly enough to give MacCready a pleasant buzz. The bar did not, in fact, sell beer - and was really more of a chem station for raiders looking to stock up before their next hunt - but apparently, the Nuka-Cola company made a bottled mix drink that tasted exactly like regular cola mixed with whisky. MacCready had a feeling this place was going to kill his love of Nuka-Cola if he stayed here too long, he was already getting sick of the overly sweet taste. 

By the time MacCready had his second bottle half empty the Overboss had returned from his errands. It had been easy to see the slender man coming since everyone ducked out of his way the moment they saw him walk through the gates. MacCready chugged the last of the saccharine alcohol before sliding up from where he was sitting. 

“How’d it go?” He asked, emboldened by alcohol and mostly enjoyable outing. It seemed the Overboss was appreciative of his more relaxed demeanor. He smiled at MacCready, pleased.

“About as well as anything goes around here,” He said. “I was able to recover your luggage from the Operators. They hadn’t even opened your bags yet.”

“Oh, that’s good,” MacCready said, sluggishly catching up with the conversation. “I didn’t have much I brought with me.” He admitted. 

“Well, regardless. Your bag is back at the apartment,” The Overboss said. “I was going to ask if you wanted to come with me and help clear out an area for a raider base, but I think that can't wait until tomorrow.”

MacCready frowned. “I’m not firin’ on settlers - I’m done with that crap,” He said. MacCready’s brain was slow to pick up on what a terrible idea it was to say that - how much alcohol had been in that cola? He thought it would be like a beer, but it definitely was feeling more like whisky.

“I wasn’t asking you to,” The Overboss said. “The place I’m trying to clear out is infested with mirelurks - apparently there’s a nest with several kings and possibly a queen in it.”

“Oh,” MacCready nodded. “Yeah, I could help with that. Gonna need more than a handgun to take on a mirelurk queen, though.”

“I believe a rifle was recovered with your things,” The Overboss said. “Will that suffice? Or do you need some else?”

“Nah, that’ll work,” MacCready said. 

“Good,” The Overboss said. He paused, giving MacCready a look. “I heard you got into a little trouble while I was gone,” The Overboss nodded towards the raider missing his right kneecap who had bled out not too long ago. MacCready shrugged.

“Some guy in blue face paint got mad ‘n blew that weirdo’s legs off. I didn’t have much to with it.” 

“I see,” The Overboss said. “Mason is the Pack Alpha - leader of one of the raider gangs. Try to stay off his bad side.”

The Overboss had started walking, and MacCready tried to follow as sober-ly as possible, but even he could tell he was swaying on his feet. The Overboss cast him a sideways glance and laughed. 

“I take it you discovered Nuka-Cola Dark?” He asked. 

“I thought it would be like beer,” MacCready admitted. “Why would someone make a soda that strong?” 

“Beats me,” The Overboss shrugged. “But it was pretty popular before the war.”

MacCready’s brow furrowed. Before the war…? “You’re not... _actually_ two-hundred years old, right?” MacCready asked. It was something he hadn’t really put much thought into, but the rumors about this guy were pretty consistent on that detail. 

“I am two-hundred and _thirty_ years old, actually,” The Overboss said, “plus or minus a few years. The details are a little fuzzy.” 

“How?” MacCready asked as they exited the marketplace. The Overboss hummed, thinking things over for a moment. 

“Do you know what cryogenics are?” He asked. MacCready shook his head. It sounded like a type of gun to him, or maybe a flavor of ice cream, but he managed to keep from saying that out loud and embarrassing himself.

“Well, it’s a technology from before the war,” The Overboss explained. “It's similar to how you can keep food from rotting in something cold. They put me in a pod and froze me just as the bombs dropped and I slept for around two-hundred and ten years. I only woke up about three years ago.”

MacCready could barely wrap his head around that. “So, like that comic book about the caveman?” He said. The Overboss laughed. 

“Yes! Exactly like that,” He said. “Do you like comic books, then? I have a small collection of Grognak’s back in the apartment.”

MacCready shrugged. He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the conversation but he was having that feeling again where he felt more like a passenger in his body than the one in control. He followed the Overboss around the murky pond that sat in front of the apartment, watching a pair of raiders sift through the muck searching for something. His eye caught a faded sign that had been made before the war - it was a picture of a man, his wife, and his son, all smiling and holding Nuka-Colas. MacCready wondered about what it had been like back then. He’d often tried to imagine what places looked like before being blown to bits, but now instead of trying to mentally recreate buildings, he was trying to place where he, Lucy, and Duncan would be. It probably cost a fortune to come to a place like this, but MacCready liked to imagine he was one of the lucky rich guys back then who had a lot of that paper stuff they used to buy things with. He could see Lucy dipping her legs in the clean water of the pond, Duncan running along the edges with a soda in a paper cup. Duncan would have wanted to ride on the boat; he loved boats. 

MacCready sniffed, realizing way too late that he was crying. Stupid two-hundred-year-old alcoholic soda. He ran his sleeve over his eyes as fast as possible. Tears and snot stained his arm; he hoped no one could see him.

“Are you alright?” The Overboss asked. He was standing on the elevator, waiting for MacCready to catch up.

“Yeah, boss,” MacCready mumbled. “Just got a lil dust in my eye.”

The Overboss accepted the lie, though he probably didn’t believe it. MacCready stepped onto the wooden platform and tried not to look down on his way up.


	5. Questions, Answers, and Crab Dinners

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _(See end notes for content warnings)_

MacCready aimed down the sights of his rifle. The scope automatically targeted the mirelurks swarming around their queen, making it ridiculously easy to store half a round of 5.56 ammo in their shells. The Overboss had attached it to the rifle before giving the old gun back to MacCready, told him it was a gift and offered to mod the receiver to convert it to an auto rifle. MacCready had turned him down.

 _“The rifle’s a loan from a friend,”_ He’d told him. _“I don’t want to mess with it more than necessary.”_

He hadn’t been particularly happy about the sight at first, but admittedly it was growing on him. Besides, if he ever got a chance to give it back to Daisy she probably wouldn’t mind the upgrade. 

MacCready dropped another overgrown bug into the slime, watching its sickly blue fluids mingle with the murky run-off of the ancient Nuka-Cola factory. Two other Mirelurks crawled across the body, determined to avenge their fallen brethren. From his vantage point in an old office room, MacCready was completely safe from their wrath. It almost felt unfair, but MacCready knew just how dangerous these bugs could be; although, considering the fact that he was clearing this area out for raiders, he didn’t know if their replacements would be an improvement. 

MacCready raised the sights on his gun, away from the swarm of Nuka-Cola infused mirelurk kings and up to the head of the queen. She towered almost two stories high, mandibles flexing as she spit acid at the nimble black-haired man sprinting across the roof and firing a set of pipe pistols. The gun locked on to the queen - MacCready shifted barely a hair so the sight was focused in on the humanoid figure. The computerized display highlighted weak points in red, giving the likelihood to hit in percentages and calculating the perfect angle for a clean headshot. His finger tightened around the trigger and squeezed.

 _“Bang,”_ MacCready muttered as the LCD screen flashed a warning in his eye. 

_Out Of Ammo. Out Of Ammo._

MacCready pulled his gun from the window and detached the clip. He fished around in the ammo box he’d set up next to himself, reloading lazily. In his previous life, this had been his favorite kind of job; just sitting in a safe little box and shooting wasteland creatures while someone else played distraction. They were rare - and they didn’t pay much - but it was nice not to be the one risking his neck. Plus it saved on stimpacks and chems. 

Popping the magazine back in place MacCready pointed his gun back out the window and took aim at a series of Mirelurks climbing the stairs to get at the Overboss. He tried to put the _who_ of who he was protecting out of mind as he fired on the mutated crabs. If he could just lose himself in the fight it really did feel like he was back in the Commonwealth before things went south. He was on a mission, protecting a target, and at the end of the day, he’d go home to his little hovel in the Third Rail with the meager sum of caps he’d been paid and store it in a box to cash in when he finally tried to take on Med-Tek again. 

His hands wavered and he missed his shot. MacCready huffed, frustrated. Thinking like that was actually making it _harder_ to lose himself - best to try not thinking at all. It would be a lot easier if he had chems to help untie the knots in his head, but MacCready saw what happened to mercs who ‘microdosed’ on missions. If they didn’t end up dead from sloppy aim they ended up thrill-killers who couldn't get their rocks off without someone involved dying. Besides, he wanted to at least try to make good on cleaning up his act. He’d rewritten half his vocabulary to accommodate for less swearing, he could keep away from chems. 

The swarm of smaller crabs was growing thinner by the shot. Soon all that was left alive behind the bottling factory was the mirelurk queen and the Overboss. MacCready put the queen’s head in his sights, finger around the trigger, then pulled his eye away from the sight and lowered the gun to watch the fight. Maybe the two bastards would kill each other off. 

Of course not. MacCready watched as the Overboss dodged every attack, shrugging off acid and firing at weak points like they were painted with a bullseye. It was pretty clear that this fight was a joke with an exceedingly long set up; it was only a matter of time before the Overboss won. MacCready expected nothing less from the man who single-handedly trashed an entire commonwealth. Besides being a manipulative bastard capable of infiltrating the highest levels of governance in a matter of weeks, MacCready also recalled rumors of his new boss’ exploits wiping out settlements in a single night, leaving no one alive. Some of them had been heavily armored, too, like Covenant, which was little more than a half-burnt mass grave now. 

MacCready could see how he was able to do it, too. The man fought like nothing he’d ever seen. The Overboss shrugged off attacks that would have crippled most like he was in full power armor. He picked up guns and ammo with finesse and MacCready hadn’t seen him miss a shot yet. It was downright chilling to watch, especially since MacCready didn’t know if - or more accurately _when_ \- those skills would be turned on him. 

After MacCready’s little stint of getting drunk at the market the day before, the Overboss had dropped him off back at the apartment to get some rest. By the time MacCready was up again the man had left on another outing - it seemed being the Overboss kept him busy. He’d left MacCready with a note, a sandwich, and a pile of comic books to read, and MacCready didn’t see him again until the next day when he’d dragged MacCready up to the old bottling plant to exterminate some Mirelurks. MacCready wondered when the man had time to sleep, but if keeping busy meant the Overboss kept his hands to himself then MacCready was just fine with him pulling a few all-nighters. 

Left with nothing to do besides watch the Overboss take down a giant crab, MacCready decided to pace the room. A fight already won wasn’t one worth watching, and somehow watching the man holding him captive flaunt his excessive power wasn’t particularly entertaining for MacCready. 

There wasn’t much of interest in the old office. Chairs, a desk, a few broken terminals. MacCready found several bottles of Nuka-Cola - if he’d found these a few months ago he would have relished the extra caps he could score bartering off the drink. MacCready had a feeling the traders here weren’t in the market for buying _more_ soda, and he wasn't exactly craving the stuff himself anymore. There was a pack of cigarettes, and MacCready was able to snag himself a lighter from one of the drawers. MacCready stuck one in his mouth, then hesitated with the lighter. The Overboss hadn’t exactly _forbidden_ him from smoking, he had just said he didn’t like the smell. MacCready couldn’t possibly care less about what the psychotic bastard liked, but until he decided he was ready to die, MacCready wasn’t too keen on getting on the Overboss’ nerves. 

Still, the cigarette _was_ already out of the pack. 

MacCready flicked the lighter on and plopped himself down in a chair. Considering the windows had been busted out centuries ago, MacCready didn’t exactly have to crack a window, but he still tried to blow the smoke as far away from himself as he could. Lucy said the smell lingered in clothes, but there wasn’t much MacCready could do about that - it wasn’t like he was about to take his coat off while there were still mirelurks running about. 

Speaking of which.

The ground shook, ending in an abrupt _thud_ that nearly threw MacCready from his chair. He sighed and snubbed the half-finished cigarette on the desk before picking his rifle up by the strap. By the sound of it, his boss had finished off the Queen. 

“MacCready!” The Overboss raised a hand, smiling like a kid with a comic book and holding up a gooey chunk of mirelurk meat. “Do you like seafood?” 

“Sometimes,” MacCready said, trotting down the stairs. MacCready couldn’t imagine what the meat off of the Mirelurks here would taste like, but judging from the overpoweringly sweet smell mixed with fish, not very good. 

The Overboss, for his part, didn’t seem to notice the stench at all, or at least didn’t mind it. He was busy pulling the claws off of the fattest Mirelurks and shoving them in a bag. MacCready came up beside him, standing awkwardly at his side while he scavenged the corpses. He noticed the man’s smile was different; it was like there was less of an edge to it. If MacCready didn't know any better he could have easily mistaken the man for an average scavver. MacCready would go as far as to say the Overboss looked like he actually _enjoyed_ picking through the dead crabs.

“This was the best fight I’ve had in a while,” He said with a laugh, wiping bluish-green blood off his face with the back of his knuckles. “I appreciate you taking care of the little ones, though I missed you at the end of the fight there.”

MacCready sighed. He’d hoped the Overboss wouldn’t have noticed. “You looked like you were having fun,” He said with a shrug. “I would have stepped in if you looked like you needed help.”

“That so?” the man said skeptically. MacCready felt the hairs on the back of his neck quiver as the Overboss saw through his lie. Thankfully, the Overboss didn’t choose to pursue it. He shouldered his sack of fresh crab meat and stepped closer to MacCready. “I think a crab dinner and a little radio would be the perfect way to celebrate our success, don’t you think?” The Overboss. MacCready shrugged. It was annoying to constantly be asked his opinion when he knew, in the end, they would just end up doing what the other man wanted. 

The Overboss wrapped his arms around MacCready, lingering on the small of his back. MacCready flinched when the Overboss leaned in to peck him on the mouth, but he managed to acquiesce with some effort. It was a brief, unpleasant kiss that left MacCready’s muscles stiff even after it was over. The Overboss, for his part, seemed to have enjoyed it at least. His eyes were half-lidded, his more genuine smile faded into something sultry and teaming with pleasure.

“After dinner, I think we should have some fun,” The Overboss said. “I found a pair of handcuffs and silk ribbons that I’ve been saving for a good time.”

“Sounds great,” MacCready mumbled, following after him with a quiet sigh. At least Lucy had waited for their third time together before making things weird. 

\---

MacCready cleaned off his boots while the Overboss worked on dinner. His pants had been soaked in vibrant blue up to the thighs from trudging through the Quantum River. MacCready had been forced to peel them off and throw them in a tub of water if he hoped to get the stains out, leaving him sitting in his boxers as he scrubbed bits of mirelurk guts from the soles of his shoes. 

The whole scene gave off a domestic vibe that permeated the atmosphere around them. The sounds and smells of cooking, the relaxed posture of the thin man stirring the pot - if MacCready wasn't so concerned about the "after dinner plans" his captor had mentioned, he might have even found himself relaxing just a bit. His grip around the rag tightened every time he thought about it. He had to reel himself in - no matter how much he wanted to scream and act out he had to remember how important survival was. As grim as the situation seemed, there was still hope that MacCready could find an out and slip away. He'd made up his mind that he would go back to the Commonwealth and throw everything he had Med-Tek. If he died that was that, but he was going to do everything he could to get that cure for his kid. He had been stupid for giving up on it; it was selfish decision made because MacCready had been scared, but not anymore. He'd promised his family and himself that he was going to be a better person, and if that meant submitting to this sadistic man's whims for a chance to save his son, he'd do it.

MacCready took a long sip from a bottle of Nuka-Cola Dark, trying to pace himself now that he knew just how potent it was. The sweetness was giving him a migraine, but the alcohol was a welcome distraction. And maybe blaming his migraine solely on the cola wasn’t entirely fair.

_“...And in the end, after I’d shot down the last behemoth, the raiders at the bar all cheered and said ‘wow, RedEye, you’re the greatest!’ and I was like ‘yeah, I know’ and the raider leader was like ‘You should come out on jobs with us more often. There isn’t a raider alive that kills stuff as good as you do and looks as good while doing it.’ and I was like ‘thanks man!’ and he said ‘No, seriously. You’re friggin’ hot and tough as nails. If I were a lady I’d have sex with you right now.’ and I was flattered but, like, that’s not my style, so I had to turn him down on that offer haha. Anyways, You’re listening to Raider Radio. Next up we have a favorite song of mine that I learned from a man with only one arm - well, I mean, I learned the lyrics from him - he couldn’t play guitar because, you know, one arm. Normally I write my own stuff but this one’s a good one - it’s called ‘Get The Fuck Out of my House Or I’ll Kill You.’”_

MacCready grimaced at the out-of-tune chord that was carelessly strung over the radio. Christ; he was pretty sure this guy was less annoying when he was broadcasting MacCready’s deathmatches. At least when he was in the arena there hadn’t been any god awful guitar playing in the background. MacCready never thought he’d miss Travis’ chaotic ramblings between songs on the Diamond City radio. RedEye was like a funhouse mirror image of the anxious kid - completely delusional with a sense of grandeur that complimented his ego. Not unlike someone else MacCready knew. 

“Dinner’s ready,” The Overboss called over his shoulder, dumping a pot of crab meat out onto a plate. “You should probably eat it while it’s warm - the Nukalurks tend to get a bit sticky when they cool.”

MacCready was too anxious to be hungry but did as he was told. He was new to the whole ‘obedience’ thing - most of his life had been self-governed in the literal sense - but he thought he had gotten the hang of it pretty fast. Maybe a little too fast. If someone had told him that one day he’d be taking orders from a deranged narcissist who seemed to have it out for everyone and everything in his way, MacCready would have asked how much he was getting paid. MacCready supposed that room, board and continuing to breathe was a fair enough price for anything. 

MacCready wiped his hands off on his legs and headed over to the table. The Overboss had set out a fork and knife but MacCready forwent them and cracked straight into the shell with his hands. He hadn’t eaten much seafood in his life, and it wasn’t like there had been anyone around to judge his table manners until recently. Perhaps there was a little part of him that relished the defiance in his actions, but mostly it was that he had no idea how he was supposed to get the meat out of crab legs with a fork. The Overboss seemed to notice but didn’t object more than a raised brow and a shrug. 

Admittedly, the food was good. Salty and savory, with a hint of Nuka-Cola sweetness. After the first few bites, MacCready’s appetite was stimulated and his bites became bigger and bigger.

“It’s good, I take it?” The Overboss said humorously. He used a knife and fork to pick the meat out of the shell in a far more refined manner than MacCready. If he had any self-respect left it might have made him feel self-conscious, but at this point, there wasn’t anything the Overboss could think of him that wasn’t worse than what MacCready felt about himself. 

MacCready nodded, swallowing. “It’s fine,” He said. 

“You’re eating a lot faster than just _fine_ ,” The Overboss laughed. He pointed with a fork at MacCready’s cheek. “You have a little sauce stuck in your beard.” 

MacCready wiped at his jaw with the back of a hand, feeling just a little heat in his cheeks. Maybe he had more dignity left than he thought. 

“I need to shave,” He said, trying to keep his tone from coming off too defensive. “I don’t like having this much hair on my face.”

“You’re much cuter with a goatee anyways,” The Overboss agreed. Just hearing that made MacCready want to shave it all off. He wouldn’t - he liked his style too much for that - but he did think about it. The Overboss shrugged and dug back into his crab. “It’s whatever you want. You’re very attractive regardless of how you style your hair.”

MacCready hadn’t wanted a subject changed more in his life. 

“I thought you didn’t eat,” He said, watching another forkful of crab go into the Overboss’ mouth. The Overboss shrugged as he chewed. 

“I _can_ eat,” He said after swallowing. “I just don’t eat often. It's a hassle since I don’t have to, and I can’t really taste anything.”

“I don’t get you at all, but whatever,” MacCready said with a shrug. He had come to accept that the Overboss was just weird and probably delusional, so there wasn't any point in arguing or trying to find logic in what he said.

“Most don’t,” The Overboss said. MacCready figured he wasn’t going to get an elaboration on that, so he was surprised when the Overboss continued gleefully. The man chuckled, looking MacCready over. “You know, you’re actually the first person I’ve told that to.” He said. “Normally when I take on a companion I play along with whatever they’ve decided to believe about me - but with you it’s different; you already know who I am and what I do, so there’s no reason to lie to you.” 

“I’m flattered,” MacCready said dryly. The Overboss raised a brow and MacCready swallowed, worried he had crossed some line. “I- I mean it, honest.”

“Oh, please, spare me,” The Overboss said with a roll of his eyes. “Even I can pick up on sarcasm that blatant. I know you don’t like me, that’s part of what makes you so sexy.”

 _You sadistic, psychotic freak,_ MacCready thought in the privacy of his own mind. Even if he would never say something like that out loud for fear of retribution, he at least had his own thoughts to berate the narcissistic madman. Or, at least, so he hoped - because the way the Overboss was looking at him just then made him feel like he might have said that last part out loud. Nuka-Cola Dark - it would be the end of him for sure. 

“You know,” The Overboss said before MacCready could apologize for any slight he might have caused, real or imagined. “I think we should play a game of truth or dare to get to know each other a little more - since we’re going to be spending some time together.” His voice was perfectly smooth and calm, but something about the way he said it made MacCready’s heart stutter in his chest. “Do you know how to play?” 

“I think I can guess the rules from the title,” MacCready said. 

“Mm,” The Overboss hummed. “I've modified the game just a tad to add a little more flavor to it - We take turns asking each other questions. If you don’t want to answer the question then the person who asked can issue a dare - within reason, of course. And obviously, no lying is allowed.”

“Right,” MacCready was only halfway done with his plate but he was certain he didn’t want to eat anymore. It wasn’t just because the cold crustacean was starting to congeal in its own jelly-like fluids as it lost its heat. “I take it you’ll be going first?” 

“If you insist, precious,” The Overboss smiled. MacCready stifled a sigh. Walked himself right into that one. The Overboss glanced upwards, tapping his fork on his plate as he thought of what to ask. “Hm. Alright, first question - where are you from?” 

“Pass,” MacCready said without hesitation. The Overboss laughed too suddenly and too loud to be anything other than genuine. 

“Already? Oh, I can tell this is going to be a fun game,” He said. “Alright then, dare. Kiss me.” 

MacCready’s fingers curled around the palms under the table. Of course, that was his first request. MacCready bit his lip, then immediately released it when he saw the Overboss watching. 

“Of course, you can always go back and answer the question if that’s easier,” The Overboss said, leaning his cheek onto his hand. MacCready’s heart hammered as he pressed himself over the table and pecked the Overboss on the side of the face. His lips felt smooth skin stretched between patches of stubble. He wanted to vomit; the taste of sweet mirelurk and Nuka-Cola was still dancing at the back of his throat and he swore he would never eat crab again. MacCready landed back into his chair. He hoped that would be enough for him. 

The Overboss laughed mirthfully, eyes closed in glee. “Clever man,” He cheered. MacCready took advantage of the moment and wiped his mouth before the Overboss could open his eyes back up. “I’ll just have to be more specific next time.”

“Yay,” MacCready said under his breath. 

“Your turn to ask a question,” The Overboss said. MacCready frowned. He hadn’t even thought about what he would ask when it was his turn. There were more than a few that came to mind - there were a lot of times he had questions for his ‘clients’ but for obvious reasons he rarely asked. Minding your own business was a survival strategy on its own. 

“Are you really over two-hundred years old?” MacCready asked finally. The Overboss looked at him inquisitively. 

“Are you sure you want to waste a question on that?” He asked. “I already answered that one a while ago - though you might have been a bit too drunk to remember properly.”

“I remember just fine,” MacCready said, “it’s just…”

The Overboss smiled. “It’s a bit unbelievable, huh?” He said. MacCready nodded. “Well, there isn’t much I could do to verify my story, besides taking you back to the vault I spent the last two centuries on ice in, but I promise everything I said was true.”

“So you were alive before the war?” MacCready asked.

“Ah ah - that’s a question. You’ll just have to wait your turn,” The Overboss teased. MacCready tried not to be annoyed, and failing that, tried not to show it. The Overboss at least didn’t seem to be offended. He went on with his next question regardless. “Have you ever been with another man before me?” 

“Nope,” MacCready said. He felt some tension leave his shoulders after hearing the question. At least that had been an easy one. 

“Really?” The Overboss said, eyebrows raised as if he hadn’t expected the answer. MacCready pointed warningly. 

“Question.” He pointed out. The Overboss chuckled at the coy remark. 

“You catch on fast,” He said. 

“My turn, right?” MacCready said. After a nod to confirm it, MacCready thought. “So. What was the world like before the bombs?” He still wasn’t 100 percent convinced that the man before him was actually from before the war - whether that was because he was lying or delusional - but he still liked to ask the question anytime he met someone who had been alive back then. He was a little disappointed to receive a shrug from the supposed ancient man. 

“No clue,” The Overboss said. “I don’t remember much from before I was frozen.” He paused, thinking. “I do remember being in my house on the 23rd - my wife and I were watching the news when the first bombs fell-” MacCready didn’t hear the rest, mind snagged on the fact that the man in front of him had been _married_. To a _woman_. Somehow, he couldn’t imagine it. That poor girl... “-and by the time we’d gotten there I saw the first nuke hit the Commonwealth - I think that was the one that landed near the college.”

“Huh,” MacCready said, unsure of how else to respond. The Overboss shrugged. 

“Sorry to disappoint, but I’m afraid that’s all I got,” He said. “My turn!” He said in a sing-song voice. “Got any family?” 

“Pass,” MacCready said again, this time with far too much urgency in his voice. The Overboss smiled, a glint in his eye that meant nothing good for MacCready. 

“So you _do_ have a family then?” The Overboss said. Crap. Should have just lied. The Overboss chuckled and raised a hand. “Relax, I’m not going to do anything to them - assuming you behave yourself.” MacCready swallowed thickly - it was too late to deny it now. Silence stretched between them briefly; MacCready found he wasn’t able to meet the Overboss’ eyes. Finally, the other man broke the silence. “Since I got my answer I won’t make you take a dare.” He said calmly. “That means it's your turn.”

MacCready kept his eyes on his socks, hoping against hope he hadn’t just accidentally sold out his son. His brain moved sluggishly between exhaustion, mild drunkenness, and fullness from the food. He thought on his next question for several seconds before finally deciding to ask. “What- what exactly do you mean when you say things like you don’t have to eat or sleep anymore?”

The Overboss chuckled again, and this time it didn’t have the light, pleasant air to it his laughter had carried all night. It was jagged and menacing, like the hiss of a deathclaw, or the ticking of a bomb. 

“It means I can’t die,” the Overboss answered. 

“And what the hel-heck does that mean?” MacCready asked, daring to look up. The Overboss still looked as calm and casual as he had the rest of the evening, despite the change in his tones. 

“Ignoring the fact that that was another question,” He said, “it means exactly what I said. I. Can’t. Die.” 

MacCready blinked once. Twice. 

“Really?” 

“Yes, Really,” The Overboss laughed. “Are you this skeptical of everyone?” 

“Yes, and I’m counting that as your question,” MacCready said. “It’s not every day you hear someone claim that they’re immortal.” 

“True,” The Overboss shrugged. “But in my case, at least, it’s a hundred percent accurate to say I am immune to dying. Ever since I woke up in that godforsaken ice tube I just haven’t been able to die. No matter how badly I’m injured, or how long it’s been since I ate, or drank, or slept - nothing kills me. It’s been quite the freeing experience.” 

“You sound insane,” MacCready said before he could stop himself. The Overboss smiled, and that predatory feeling washed over MacCready again, making him feel like a mouse in the grip of a snake. 

“I promise, MacCready, I’m perfectly sane,” He said calmly. “If I weren’t I wouldn’t be half as terrifying as I am.” 

MacCready felt a chill down his spine. What the guy was saying was completely impossible and sounded closer to the deranged ramblings of a particularly narcissistic drunk, but somehow MacCready believed if something like that were possible, it would make far too much sense to be true for the Overboss. His confidence, his recklessness, his disregard for human life… at the very least MacCready was sure this guy _believed_ he was free from all responsibility for his actions. 

“And unlike my assertion of being two-centuries-and-a-handful-of-decades old, this one you can actually prove quite easily,” The Overboss said. He pointed to MacCready’s duster, which he’d hung up on a chair just two paces from where he sat. “go fetch _Deliverer_ and put my claims to the test.” 

“ _Deliv-_ the gun??” MacCready asked. His eyes were wide and he had trouble finding his words. “What do you want me to do with a gun??” 

The Overboss laughed, and MacCready felt the sound grating against his nerves like nails on a chalkboard. “What do you think I want you to do - use it to shoot me!” He put a finger against his temple, flexing his thumb like the hammer of a gun. “Let’s erase all doubts from your head by shooting me in mine.”

MacCready was left staring, mouth agape. This man was either completely insane or the single most powerful human being alive - if he could even be called human anymore. He looked over the Overboss’s face. Reading people wasn’t exactly MacCready’s forte - though he was better at it than the average Wastelander due to his line of work - but he saw nothing in the man that suggested that he was being anything other than genuine. He was really offering to let MacCrady shoot him in the head. 

What could he possibly gain from doing that? If he was wrong and he _could_ die, a point blank shot to the skull would be the end of him - and then it would the end of MacCready when the raiders came up and found their boss dead and his thrall-of-the-week holding the murder weapon. And if he really _was_ telling the truth here - if this guy really was some kind of immortal being with god like powers… someone who never tired, never ate, never drank, never slept… someone who could never die, no matter how injured he became… if all of those things were true… 

Then MacCready wouldn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of escaping him. Ever. And if MacCready pulled the trigger, he would have all the confirmation he needed of just how screwed he was. 

MacCready closed his mouth, shaking his head. “No… that’s not necessary, boss,” He said, picking up one of the sticky crab legs and twirling it in his fingers. “I believe you.”

The Overboss laughed that same sickly laugh that made MacCready want to puke from the deepest part of his gut. “You’re a smarter man than most, MacCready.”

“Thanks, boss,” MacCready mumbled. 

“Now,” The Overboss said, clapping his hands. MacCready jumped just a little, adding one more bruise to his ego. “Since we both asked a question out of turn, I say the game defaults back to me. Sound fair?" MacCready shrugged. “Fantastic!” A pause. “What’s your son or daughter’s name?”

MacCready closed his eyes and sighed. Never had MacCready hated himself more than he did at that moment, not even in the nights after Lucy died. “Pass,” He grumbled, not bothering to open his eyes up to see the delighted look doubtlessly on the Overboss’ face. 

“I thought that might be the case,” The Overboss said, voice deep and vibrant. MacCready shuddered, and he wondered if he really was going to be sick tonight. “You’ve been very talkative, MacCready,” The Overboss said, hooking a finger between his teeth. “I should get you drunk more often.” MacCready felt the toe of the Overboss’ boot trail his bare leg, and he had to fight not to pull away. “Not that it hasn’t been a very fun evening thus far, but I think I have a few better uses for that mouth of yours.”

MacCready turned his head away, jaw set, if only so he wouldn’t let this horrible, horrible person see him emote.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Key Log, October 23rd, 2077:  
>  >~  
> >tgm  
> >/enter  
> _
> 
> Hehe, I hope this little twist doesn't turn everyone reading for the plot away from this fic - I've always had a thing for overpowered characters and the many, many ways they can fuck up a universe. To be fair, even without "cheats" the Sole Survivor is terrifyingly powerful, so it only made sense to bring that to its logical extreme here to trap MacCready even further. :3c
> 
>  **Content Warnings:** _Forced kissing_


	6. *What Can I Say? He Likes It Rough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long! Fun fact: I actually wrote this entire fic sans sex scenes. It helps me keep continuity straight. This is one of the last scenes I had to write and I was a bit strapped for ideas. 
> 
> Another note: I forgot to thank an old fandom friend for helping me write the more sexy bits of the story. [Jelly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JellyFicsnFucks) has been a great sounding board for all my worst ideas and even helped write a bit of chapter 3. I've added a credit to them on that chapter too. 
> 
> As always, content warnings are in the endnotes, and the chapter is skippable if you're more interested in the plot. Enjoy~

MacCready wasn’t a virgin by the time he’d met his Lucy, not by a long shot; however, MacCready would gleefully credit her with shredding the remaining scraps of bedroom innocence he’d had left. Sex-Ed in Little Lamplight was essentially just mutual masturbation sessions in the showers and the occasional rumor of who got who pregnant. MacCready hadn’t really thought much about sex outside of times when he was having it and times when he was making jokes. 

And then along came Lucy, and man, had that girl thought about sex. MacCready had no idea how someone who grew up on a farm in the middle of nowhere learned so many different ways to screw. There was a reason that it only took a few months for her to end up with Duncan, despite how careful they were about the wheres and the whens. She taught him about the fine line between pleasure and agony, between helplessness and arousal - suppose that made him lucky, in some ways, because if this had been the first time MacCready found himself handcuffed naked in bed, he might have panicked.

“Now that you’re comfortable, Mr. MacCready,” The Overboss said, straddling MacCready’s hips with his calves. “I’d say we should have some fun here.”

MacCready didn’t agree that this was going to be fun, even if his cock begged to differ. He wasn’t swollen yet, but he certainly wasn’t soft. He could feel his dick press against the worn leather of the Overboss’ trousers; the rough texture made him squirm, putting extra strain on his shoulders where his hands were pinned behind his back. At least the cuffs the Overboss had put him in were padded. Lucy had just used a rusted pair of handcuffs she’d picked off an old police station. It amazed him still that neither of them had caught any diseases from her ‘kit’.

He still didn’t dare defy his boss - MacCready was fairly certain the threat to slit his throat and violate his corpse still held. Instead, he laid his head back against the pillow and let whatever was about to happen to him happen. If past experiences were anything to go by, he was the submissive in this situation, which made it easy for him to zone out and count the grains in the wood on the terras ceiling. He’d counted almost 28 unique lines when his chin was pulled back down so he was forced to make eye contact with the Overboss.

“You know, if you’re not going to look at me, I might as well just blindfold you,” The Overboss said, voice low and breathy. “Would you like that? To be completely blind to the world around you, never knowing which part of you I am going to touch next?” 

“No boss,” MacCready said, sounding every bit as unenthusiastic as he was.

“Hm, well, too bad, I’ve talked myself into it,” The Overboss said, sliding off MacCready’s chest. MacCready sighed. There really is no winning for him in this, is there? Not when he doesn’t know the rules of the game.

MacCready’s eyes were covered with an old tie. The Overboss had the courtesy to tie it loose, so it at least didn’t give him a migraine. With his vision gone MacCready was forced to operate with his other four senses, which meant he had more time to feel the Overboss’ hands run gently along his ribs. 

“Thaaat’s it,” The Overboss purred, mouth close enough to MacCready’s chest he could feel his heated breath against his nipples. MacCready took in a quick, shuddering gasp. He didn’t have much in the way of body hair, but what little he did have caught the Overboss exhalation like a series of sails. His face was warm in direct contrast with the air around them. Even in early summer, the east coast air was frigid at night, and with the terras being as open as it was there was little protection from the chill, naked and chained as he was. 

The Overboss’ teeth met MacCready’s neck and he shuddered. Goosebumps ran along his arms as the Overboss wrapped his hands around MacCready’s sides, just below the armpit, and squeezed. It was an odd place to get a reaction from, but MacCready moaned before he could stop himself. He bit down as soon as he heard the sound; the terrace was high up but the last thing he wanted was an audience, especially one made of a bunch of raiders. 

“You like that, pet?” The Overboss chuckled. His hands moved up MacCready’s chest, feeling his pecs and teasing his collarbone with a thumb. MacCready shivered, body well trained to the situation at hand and responding appropriately. “God, you are a handsome one. I could come just from touching you.” 

MacCready didn’t know if he was supposed to respond to that, but he was sure he had no idea how if he was. Was that even a compliment? 

It hardly mattered. Those hands were skilled, and when they searched, they found. MacCready had to force his mouth closed and swallow. His heart was beating in his chest and his cock was at the stage where it _needed_ to be inside something. MacCready bucked his hips, arms jerking in the restraints reflexively. Fingers were on his neck, trailing until they held his cheeks. A pair of fingers slid into MacCready’s mouth, like a man inspecting a Brahman for sale. He keened soft and now, the sound coming out in a muffled “ahnn” around the fingers. 

“You look flustered, my little mercenary,” The Overboss teased. “I wonder if I might just make you come without even touching your cock. It’s happened before.” The fingers left his mouth, trailing saliva down his neck like a slug. MacCready felt a hand rubbing along his abdomen, following the grain of his pubic hair from his abs to his crotch. He groaned, back arching into the touch. 

The movement was halted with a slap to the thigh. MacCready yelped and shook his head in an effort to loosen the blindfold. A wet hand rested against his forehead, holding him still. “Now, now, let’s not be greedy,” The Overboss hissed. “Just because you’re ready doesn’t mean I am. I want you to sit as still as possible, understand me?” 

“Yes Ma'am,” MacCready said reflexively. The realization was like a chest wound. Unaware or uncaring of MacCready's chagrin and depression, the Overboss laughed. 

"Ma'am?" He said sweetly. "Is this your way of saying I'm effeminate?" 

"Sorry, boss," MacCready muttered with a swallow. 

"Don't be - It's hardly an insult," The Overboss said, pressing his lips to MacCready's in a quick, almost chaste peck, "though I do prefer 'boss' or 'sir' from now on, 'kay?" 

"Yes boss," MacCready said. Blood flow reoriented itself from his cock to his brain. What the hell was he doing? He didn’t want this, so why was he enjoying it so much? He damn well knew why - Because it felt _good._ The Boss’ hand wrapped around his length with a firm grip, giving it a single pump. The sensation was like water on a burn. MacCready jumped, immediately forgetting his instructions. He was met with a strike across the cheek - not enough to hurt, but enough to sting and throw his head to the side. 

“Naughty, naughty,” The Overboss said. “How did someone like you make it as a killer-for-hire when you can’t even follow simple instructions?”

“Sorry, boss,” MacCready said. The hand came back down on his cheek, this time in a gentle pat. He flinched regardless. 

“That’s a good boy,” The Overboss said. “Now, try to remember this time. No moving.”

“Okay,” MacCready said, sucking in a breath. He readied himself and closed his eyes under the fold. Fingers trailed his inner thighs, coming together around his cock like a worshiper clasping their hands in prayer. MacCready grit his teeth and focused as hard as he could on staying still. The sensation was too much, too warm, and the Overboss hung there, giving no friction. He let out his breath in staggered goes.

Finally, the Overboss moved, fingers feathering across his shaft as he released the organ. The Overboss’s index finger - or what felt like it, at least - hung on the slit, teasing the glans. MacCready fought to keep himself still, though he turned his flustered cheeks to the side. 

“Ah, ah, that counts as moving,” The Overboss warned. He wrapped a hand around MacCready’s balls and squeezed. 

“N-no, wait - please…” MacCready begged, heart in his throat. This kind of panic did nothing to dampen his arousal, and he hated it. 

“Aw, look at you,” The Overboss said. “You look like you’re just begging to be punished, aren’t you? I had hoped you would be a brat from the moment I saw you.” MacCready heard the rustling of sheets and the hands came away from his body. The bed shifted, and he could hear the Overboss standing nearby. “Flip over for me.” 

MacCready’s heart stuttered and he shook his head. His cheeks clenched reflexively. “I don’t… I don’t… please, just not that…” 

MacCready felt a slap go across his face, and this time it was meant to hurt. His jaw ached where the heel of the Overboss’s hand met the bone there. “First off - don’t ever tell me what to do,” He said sharply. “Second, I’m not going to sodomize you tonight. I recall how well that went last time. But if you don’t roll over for me right now I might just change my mind.” 

MacCready took the threat seriously and wriggled in his restraints so he could turn over. His dick met the sheets and the friction was enough to make him grunt. It took some effort to get himself off his side and onto his belly, but finally, he found himself with his dick pressed to his navel and his ass exposed to the man behind him. He could only hope that the other would keep his promise. 

“Good boy,” He said, patting MacCready’s head. “But don’t think that a little good behavior is enough to get you out of your punishment.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” MacCready mumbled into the sheets. Unfortunately, the cloth wasn’t enough to block out the words entirely from the other’s ear. 

“Talking back, are we?” The Overboss said, coming up behind MacCready to rest a hand on his exposed cheek. “You are just a glutton for punishment.”

The Overboss yanked MacCready down the bed so that his ass hung off the side, giving MacCready the feeling of being a piece of meat on display at the market. He could only imagine just what he looked like with his legs just barely spread, hands cuffed behind his back. The worst part was just how much he was enjoying this. He had truly believed he would never find himself like this again; tied down with eyes lustfully drinking in every part of him. Shame mixed with arousal and his eyes felt heavy, but he refused to cry. 

He had no time to prepare before the Overboss struck him across the rump. MacCready bit the covers as his dick jumped with the swat. “That’s one,” The Overboss whispered into his ear. MacCready keened softly as he clenched in anticipation of the next hit. “And two.” The _smack_ resounded through the terrace loud enough that he worried the raiders below might hear. The thought of raiders below listening in was no longer quite as terrible as it had been, thanks to the throbbing of his cock. Just one more blow to his pride. 

“What do you say we go to twelve?” The Overboss said. “Or would you rather thirteen for luck?” 

MacCready panted and refrained from rutting his dick between the sheets and his stomach for dignity’s sake. “I thought… thirteen was an unlucky number.” 

“Hm, well in that case we’ll go to twenty until you learn to shut that damn mouth of yours,” The Overboss laughed, resting his hand on MacCready’s ass. He gave the plush skin there a soothing rub, a finger trailing down his crack. MacCready’s teeth sunk back into the fabric below as the man teased him. His face was burning and he was certain he must be all shades of red right now. 

MacCready heard a shuffle behind him and the metallic _clink_ of a belt coming undone. His heart jumped with anxiety, and he almost spoke up to ask ( _beg_ ) that the Overboss keep his cock out of him when he remembered that promise was already given. There was no need to piss off the guy who had him tied up and spread eagle any further. 

“I’m getting tired of using my hand,” The Overboss explained casually. There was a _snap_ behind MacCready, like the cracking of a whip. It was likely the belt being pulled together into a switch - he was very familiar with the sound. “Besides, seeing you like this has me turned on in all sorts of ways.” 

MacCready felt for a moment that he was outside his body, looking at the Overboss’ aroused expression as he chewed his lip and devoured MacCready’s vulnerable body with his gaze. He could see himself bent over, ass up, balls tight against the slope of the bed as he struggled not to orgasm (while not expressly stated - he was certain the Overboss would not be pleased if he came first.) It was a humiliating sight, even if it was one he conjured up all on his own. As it were, his eyes were still hidden behind the tie and there was no way for him to truly know what was happening behind him. 

_SMACK_

The hit seemed to come from nowhere. MacCready yelled, caught off guard by the intensity of it. The Overboss put power into the swat; it was almost certainly going to leave a mark. Before the sting could fade from his mind the Overboss delivered his next blow. And the next, and the next…

“That’s three... four… five… six.” 

He was relentless, striking MacCready’s ass over and over. MacCready’s body jerked every time, the reflex impossible to stop. His cock leaked fluids across the sheets, smearing precum across the bed in a slick, hot mess. MacCready was panting, mouth forced open to ventilate and cry out as he was spanked. The sensation went from stinging to outright painful as time went on, but as much as hated to admit it he didn’t want it to stop. Lucy had always been so careful with him, never wanting to leave him too injured when they were finished, but MacCready always felt that he could handle more. This was just barely at the tipping point of unbearable, and by god did he _love_ it.

Just when MacCready was sure the Overboss had left his cheeks thoroughly bruised (and possibly lacerated), the swats moved. He continued well past twenty as he smacked the belt across MacCready’s back. It gave his ass time to rest as new pain bloomed from just above and along his spine. After one particularly hard hit MacCready was certain he was bleeding. Warmth pooled under the strike and the pain became all his mind could focus on. He whined, tears leaking despite his refusal to cry. “Please… Please… boss.” He begged, not even sure what for. The Overboss didn’t let up for several more strikes. 

“You’ve been such a naughty boy,” The Overboss said, voice caught in his own series of panting. He placed a hand under MacCready’s cheek, turning his face to the side so he could see the blindfolded merc in all his flustered glory. “Do you like this? Do you like being punished?” 

There was nothing MacCready could respond with that wasn’t already being said by his red cheeks and swollen cock. Saliva pooled in his mouth and wetted the fingers holding up his head. The hand dropped his head and MacCready could hear the Overboss wiping them off on his shirt. MacCready used the short reprieve to catch his breath. 

“How pathetic,” The man said. “To think, you were this mysterious, bad-ass mercenary for hire - an ex-gunner, a killer, a leader - and now you’re just my bitch waiting for my cock to fill your ass.”

MacCready felt a chill go through him, and despite his hammering heart his cock pulsed with the image the Overboss’ words brought to mind. His face pushed into the pillows by careless hands, being entered over and over until he bled as he was claimed by the brute behind him… MacCready shivered. 

“No… don’t… p-please, boss… you promised…” MacCready whined, knowing that nothing he said or did could possibly stop the man. He was entirely at the other’s mercy, and the Overboss owned every inch of him. 

“Shhh, darling,” The Overboss said tenderly, running his fingers through MacCready’s sweaty hair. “Just relax. I won’t break my word. Just do what I say and this will feel good.” 

MacCready nodded, and the fingers in his hair tightened. “Good boy,” He heard whispered in his ear. He felt the shaft of the Overboss’ cock touch his crack. He whimpered, but the length didn’t venture lower. Instead, his dick slid upwards, sweat and precum lubricating the journey. MacCready felt the Overboss’s hips meet his, and the man yanked his head off the bed by his hair with a groan. The follicles burned in his scalp as they were made to support the weight of his skull. 

“Fuck, you’re so warm,” The Overboss muttered. He pressed his weight into MacCready’s back so that he slid further onto the bed. The bruises on MacCready’s tender ass ached wonderfully. Caught between his own flesh and the mattress, MacCready’s cock relished the friction, and he bucked into the sheets. “No need to do that,” The Overboss whispered into his ear. “Just let me do all the work here, sweet thing.”

The pressure on his hair went slack and MacCready let his face be planted into the sheets. He wished that his arms were free so that he could grab a pillow to rest on instead of the sheets that had been drenched with his own saliva. The Overboss pulled his cock back down through the crease of his ass and shot it back up. He rutted fast at first, then came back down nice and slow. The movement slid MacCready off the sheets again and he moaned pathetically. 

“Oh god,” He felt his heartbeat through his cock and his balls twitched against the sheets. He was so close. _So close_. And yet every time the Overboss slammed him against the bed it was just a bit less than what he needed to finish. 

The Overboss was getting into a rhythm now, one hand resting on MacCready’s hip to steady him while the other remained tangled in his locks. MacCready’s abused back and cheeks burned as the tempo of their bodies went from moderate to intense. His hair was yanked against and his head came off the sheets. His neck ached from the strain, but it was just another small, blissful agony to add to the myriad of sensations he was experiencing. There wasn’t a single part of his body that didn’t _feel_. 

What finally pushed him over the edge was the Overboss’ freehand suddenly wrapping around his balls, squeezing them with just the right amount of force as he shoved MacCready across the sheets. By the time he pulled back, MacCready’s tension had broken, and he released with a sobbing, choked, relieved gasp. Cum covered the sheets, and he didn’t stop orgasming for several more strokes. The sounds he made were absolutely pathetic, and they must have worked for the Overboss too, because he came not long after, shooting his load across MacCready’s back and coating his ass. 

The Overboss collapsed on top of him, caught in his own orgasmic bliss. The pressure made MacCready all the more aware of his new injuries. MacCready was sooner to recover, the ‘afterglow’ fading almost as soon as he was empty and leaving him with a hollow, horrid pit in his stomach. 

“Fuck… _fuck_ …” The Overboss muttered, laying his mouth against MacCready’s shoulder. “You were magnificent.” He said. MacCready nodded, shame filling him to the brim. His body ached and his chest burned like he’d taken a bullet straight to the heart. The Overboss weighted another full minute before lifting himself off the merc. There was a shuffle behind him of pants being re-buckled and keys fished out of the pockets. MacCready’s arms were released from the cuffs not too long after and he was free to remove the blindfold and crawl off of the disgusting puddle of his own fluids. 

MacCready was a little surprised to be offered a towel as soon as he had the tie removed. Surprised, but grateful - or at least as much as he could be at the moment. Too much of his emotional bandwidth was dedicated to the pit in his soul carved out by being screwed into submission by his tyrannical keeper. 

“You may not want to sleep in this bed,” The Overboss said as MacCready cleaned himself off as best he could. “Besides the mess we’ve made of the place, raiders will sometimes take the elevator if they have grievances to air with me, and I know from experience it is very unpleasant to be woken up by gunfire.”

“Gotcha,” MacCready said listlessly. He was too tired to move. He would just have to tuck the sheets around to avoid the mess. 

“I’ll see you in the morning then, MacCready,” The Overboss said with a wave. He pulled his shirt and coat back on casually as he descended the elevator to go off and run nighttime errands. MacCready watched him with dull eyes, then laid down on his stomach on the unsoiled side of the bed - he was far too sore to sleep on his back. 

Sex was the worst, MacCready decided. It felt so good when he was having it, but as soon as he was done he just felt empty and miserable, even when he wasn’t being raped. Lucy had been the only one who’d ever understood that feeling, even if he never could find the words to explain it. She would always talk to him while they were together, checking in at every turn to make sure he was happy. And then, when it was all over, she would wrap her tiny frame around him and hold him, and tell him just how much she loved him. The ache and sorrow couldn’t reach his heart when she was held tightly against his chest. 

He remembered still how they would fall asleep together, his arms wrapped around her back and his nose buried in her curly hair. He could remember the smell of soap in her hair, that unique perfume that her family made out of radroses and honey. He remembered how her skin was always warmer than his, and she was like a radiator in winter. He could feel her breathing in his arms, her chest rising up to meet his before falling in satisfied little snorts, like a puppy. Even now, all alone, he could feel her beside him.

MacCready clutched a pillow to the place in his heart where he could feel it was broken and closed his eyes, burying his face in the plush feathers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Warnings:** _Handcuffs, BDSM style sex, dub-con, spanking, dirty talk, hair pulling_
> 
> Fun fact! There's actually a medical term for feeling depressed after sex: Post-Coital Dysphoria. I learned that while writing this. I've never actually experienced it myself but I've heard of people who have, so I decided to look it up to see if it had a name. At this point, the default assumption I should have is that if it exists, humans have a word for it.


	7. Ideation and Commitment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter this time, but packed with plenty of angst <3
> 
> _(See end notes for content warnings)_

The first time MacCready considered suicide was when he realized he was getting into a routine. It was brief, barely a flash in his mind, but it was there and it _terrified_ him. MacCready had never felt like he couldn’t trust himself before - in fact, that had been the only person he trusted for most of his life, with the only exceptions being Lucy and his son. Of course, offing himself had always been an option to consider during jobs; there were a lot of situations where a quick, dignified death by one’s own hand was preferable to what the Wasteland would do to you, but this time was different.

It had been about a month into his stay at Nuka-World. He had spent the day wandering one of the parks with the Overboss while he checked in with the gang that had taken it over. The park actually felt like something MacCready would have enjoyed, under different circumstances. The name itself was nostalgic - Kiddie Kingdom. It sounded like something that Princess would have tried to rename Little Lamplight to if he hadn’t decked her in the schnoz and declared himself mayor. The place was apparently built in the 2050s as a place for kids to run around while their parents did... whatever couples did for fun back before the bombs. It felt completely out of place to see fully grown raiders walking around in a place meant for children, but MacCready was honestly glad not to see anyone too young around these parts. 

“The place is rigged with a mist system that was designed to spray kids with Nuka-Cola while they ran around the park,” The Overboss explained to him when MacCready noticed the odd polls standing up at every junction. 

“That sounds… sticky,” MacCready commented despite knowing he would have loved something like that when he was little, even if he wouldn’t ever admit it. 

“Yeah,” The Overboss shrugged. “I have no idea how a place like this managed to stay in business as long as it did.” On that point, at least, MacCready could agree. The Overboss continued. “When I first got here the place was infested with ghouls - the mist system was hooked up to a supply of radioactive runoff to keep humans out - it took almost three days to clear them all out.”

MacCready frowned. “Were they all feral?” He asked. A system like that sounded far too complex to have been made by mindless zombies. The Overboss shrugged. 

“Most of them,” He said. MacCready decided not to think about that too hard. 

Instead, he had spent the rest of the day meandering through the park and stopping by Operator-run merchant shops to browse what they had. The raiders still glared at him; the rumors of Porter Gage’s death had been almost certainly confirmed by now, and very few raiders were happy with MacCready serving as his replacement. Regardless, MacCready always glared right back. They either respected or feared the Overboss enough not to mess with him, so he took full advantage of that protection while out. He wasn’t going to let these people believe he was some pushover pet at the beck and call of his master - even if the truth on that was a little more of a gray area than he’d like. 

The Overboss always made sure MacCready was well stocked on caps so he could buy anything he needed without relying directly on him. It was a wonder where the money came from, but MacCready supposed a possible-immortal who never eats or sleeps would end up accumulating some amount of wealth over his lifetime. That was the kindest answer to that question his mind could come up with, and it was the one he stuck with for sanity’s sake. 

The day in question ended like the previous twenty-eight days (or was it twenty-nine? MacCready was losing count.) The two went back to the apartment, the Overboss would pick out dinner and make enough for two, and then he would call MacCready into the backroom where he would spend the next hour or two performing various sexual acts and forcing MacCready’s compliance. The Overboss still hadn’t tried to 'fully consummate' things with MacCready again - he had asked a few times and every time MacCready would tell him no. It wasn't just that anal sex scared the hell out of him (which, if he were honest, it did) it was also the only thing he had control over while they were in bed together. He didn’t understand why the Overboss was listening to him on that when everything else was clearly one-sided - but MacCready didn’t question it. It was the last piece of dignity he had left.

It had actually been in the middle of one of their couplings where the insidious thought had wormed its way into MacCready’s skull. He had been staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the other man’s mouth around his pathetically erect cock. He remembered thinking about Lucy at first, trying to pretend it was her pretty red curls down there instead of the straight-black hair of his psychotic keeper, but then his mind ended up wandering. He thought about the stupid park he’d walked through, about the snippets of conversations he’d heard from raiders, about some two-hundred-year-old corn snack he’d eaten that were way too sweet. He made a note in his head that when he went back to the park that he would stick to eating things that were fresh. 

That, amazingly, had been the spark to set him off.

Because most nights when he tried to keep his mind occupied his thoughts had automatically directed themselves to escape - tunnels he had noticed, gaps in raider patrols. Some of them were little more than fantasies of sneaking away and never coming back, others were more fleshed out plans he might try if he found the opportunity. Sometimes it was just him thinking about his life before and mentally traveling there while his body was used. This was the first time he had noticed himself thinking about future plans that involved  _ staying _ in the park. As soon as he realized that he had accepted the possibility of an (admittedly short) lifetime serving as the Overboss’ plaything, MacCready broke down and cried silently for the first time since that first night. 

And it was then that the thought struck him - If there was no possibility of escape, then only one other option remained. 

The Overboss pulled his head back up, panting. “Something wrong, sweetheart?” He asked breathily. MacCready shook his head, unable to speak without sobbing. The Overboss climbed up over MacCready’s bare chest, cupping both cheeks in his hands and pressing a kiss to his mouth. MacCready refused to acknowledge the earthy taste it left on his tongue. “God, you’re so cute when you cry.”

Ever since that moment, MacCready was plagued by the thought. 

He had hoped, at least over the course of the next day, that maybe it had just been a moment of weakness, but then his mind brought it right back to him when he least expected it. He’d been chatting absently with one of the slave-merchants about supply lines when the thought struck him suddenly with the force of a charging brahmin. MacCready had been forced to retreat from the conversation soon after, unable to focus on anything else. He practically ran back to the apartment - not wanting to deal with the raiders and their bullcrap while in that state. After that, It came and went at random intervals. Sometimes during sex, sometimes while he was out, sometimes when he wasn’t doing anything at all. 

It was as though he no longer had control over his own head anymore. He tried to combat it with thoughts of Duncan, of his promise to come home to his son with a cure and be the good father he’d never had. He thought about Lucy and how upset she would be if she knew what he was thinking, how she would be horrified and tell him that he was too young to give up on life. When sentimentalism failed, he tried alcohol, only to find the problem amplify tenfold. He hadn’t drunk anything since. In the end, all he could do was tell himself over and over not to think about it, but the more he tried not to think about it the worse it became. He found himself starring at his guns more and more without noticing.

Eventually, MacCready stopped carrying weapons on him when he left the apartment.

The Overboss was quick to notice the change in MacCready’s demeanor, but his comments were mild and roundabout. ‘You’re quiet today, what’s on your mind?’ ‘Have you seen  _ Deliverer  _ lately?’ ‘I think you might be too distracted to help out on this job.’ MacCready avoided the subject if it was ever brought up and didn’t respond if it was just implied. He knew damn well the Overboss couldn’t care less about how he felt.

After almost a week the Overboss’ patience had been tried to its limit. They were in bed, the Overboss rutting his cock between MacCready’s thighs while he sobbed openly. That, too, had become far more common, since now even arousal brought up thoughts of death. It was taking longer than usual to finish up; he could have probably helped hurry things along but MacCready was in no state of mind to help get his attacker off. 

The Overboss gave a disgruntled huff and pulled himself away from MacCready. “Alright, this is getting ridiculous,” He said, leaning to the side to face MacCready, who could only turn his head to look at the Overboss since both of his arms had been tied to the bedpost. The Overboss looked annoyed, which would have terrified MacCready to his core a week ago, since the last person to run out their usefulness to the Overboss had ended up with half their brain spread across MacCready’s face. Now, MacCready felt almost relieved; being murdered was preferable to suicide, at least. MacCready choked on a sob as the Overboss pestered him with questions. “What is wrong with you?”

“I’m being raped by a psychopath,” MacCready said, far too exhausted and hurt to censor himself. 

The Overboss rolled his eyes. “Besides that,” He sat up and - much to MacCready’s genuine surprise - untied the cords holding him in place. “Something’s changed.”

MacCready pulled his arms into his center, rubbing his chafed wrists while curling into a ball. He didn’t answer the question. If he died, he died. This nightmare was never going to end unless MacCready found some miraculous way to escape, which was becoming less and less likely every day. The Overboss waited for a response - MacCready could feel eyes boring into his bareback - then he sighed sharply. 

“Look,” The Overboss said. “Tomorrow you’re going to see Mackenzie and get whatever this shit is taken care of.” He said. “You don’t have to tell me what this is, but it needs to stop. Now.” 

MacCready nodded, unwilling to start an argument he wouldn’t win. 

“Good,” The Overboss slid out of bed, turning off the lamp on the nightstand on his way out. “Now go to sleep.” The Overboss pulled on a robe and left the room to go do whatever it was he did while everyone else slept. 

MacCready stayed awake for hours. 

\---

MacCready kept his hands in his pockets and his eyes off of everyone he passed as he walked through the marketplace. Any credit he’d manage to gain with the raiders by acting tough over the last few weeks had been blown as soon as he stopped having the energy to keep up the charade. For better or for worse, no one had tried to test him yet. As hilarious as it would be to watch whichever raider did MacCready in get on the Overboss’ kill list, it wasn’t like MacCready would be there to watch it. 

The Overboss had insisted on MacCready going to see a doctor in the morning, despite MacCready’s hopes that he would forget the idea. There wasn’t anything wrong with MacCready physically speaking, after all, so the idea was dead from the start. All this would do was waste an hour of his and Mackenzie's time.

_ “Either you go on your own, or I’ll walk you down there myself,”  _ The Overboss had said. When he put it like that, how could MacCready refuse? The last thing he wanted was to be dragged out through the public for this. 

“Hey MacCready,” Mackenzie waved, smiling warmly. “Need something?” MacCready couldn’t help but smile back. She was always someone he liked to talk to when he visited the market; she'd clearly taken her kicks but was still on her feet despite it all. He respected her, a lot. 

He hoped that if he ever did end up doing himself in she wouldn’t be too broken up about it. 

MacCready took a deep breath, shaking the thought out of his head. He saw his friend frown and cursed himself for the display. 

“Yeah,” MacCready said, forcing a smile and a relaxed shrug. “The ‘Boss wants you to check me out.”

Mackenzie cocked her head. “Is there something wrong?” 

God, MacCready hated that question. 

He shrugged. “I don’t know - he just said I needed to stop by and let you check me out - see if you could give me some chems or something, I don’t know.” MacCready wouldn’t take anything even if it was prescribed. The very thought of holding on to chems at the moment was enough to make him sick to his stomach. 

Mackenzie looked him over, and MacCready fought not to look away. Self consciousness was a new emotion to him, and his experience with it thus far had been less than thrilling. Part of him hoped that Mackenzie would tell him she had better things to do than perform a routine checkup on a clearly healthy man, but obviously she wouldn’t. Besides the fact that she was a doctor, and thus would never turn away a patient in need, there was always that thick collar around her neck with the flashing light that said she couldn’t turn down the request of a free man. 

MacCready felt sick and empty again. 

“Come with me,” Mackenzie closed the book she had been reading and took MacCready’s hand. “I can check you out in back.” 

MacCready nodded and followed her into her stall. It didn’t offer much in the way of privacy - it was more of a lean-to than an office - but it was slightly better than standing out in the middle of the marketplace. Mackenzie turned on a radio at the front of the alcove. The machine blared static white-noise, which, surprisingly, was a relief when the only other station in the area was RedEye’s. Belatedly, MacCready realized it was so no one else could hear them talking. 

“Okay,” She said, taking a seat and motioning for MacCready to do the same. “I want you to tell me everything.” 

MacCready opened his mouth, ready to ask what in particular she was referring to, or maybe to double down on the assertion that nothing was wrong, that he was only here because the Overboss had insisted he come. Instead, he found himself choking on the words. The woman across from him was probably twice his age. She knew nothing about him except that he was a familiar face with whom she'd had one or two pleasant conversations with over the last month; and yet, when he looked at her eyes he felt something in his chest crumble and break. 

Maybe it was that he was desperate. Had he been in this situation before losing his freedom he probably would have shrugged her off, maybe even gotten mad. But now? It had been so long since he had seen someone look at him and see  _ him.  _ Not as the Overboss’ pet, or as a fellow raider, or a glorified, sentient sex doll - but as a person. 

MacCready hadn’t realized how far from human he had felt.

MacCready’s head sunk into his hands, fingers running through the knots in his hair. Several false starts later, MacCready started talking.

“I think I want to kill myself,” He said. For the first time in awhile, MacCready felt anxiety creep into his chest; he’d thought that emotion had been burnt out weeks ago. He tried not to meet Mackenzie’s eyes, too ashamed of his confession. It didn’t last long, he needed to know just how disgusted or embarrassed for him she was. Amazingly, she only nodded, not a hint of judgement in her face. 

“That’s a fairly common ailment around here, actually,” She said calmly, “especially for those of us who don’t want to be here. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” 

MacCready couldn’t help but look at the collar around his friend’s neck. Even if he’d managed to remain unmarked by a similar device, there wasn't much difference between their situations. MacCready was grateful that she was so understanding; no wonder this woman decided to become a medic. 

“But I don’t- It’s not like,” MacCready tugged at his hair, frustrated by his own inability to speak. “I’m not… suicidal or anything. I just- I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m trapped, and there’s no other way out.” MacCready bit down on the words as soon as he heard the terrified wobble in his voice. Mackenzie nodded again, sympathetic as ever. 

“I understand,” she said. “I can’t imagine anyone in your place feeling different. I’m surprised by how well you’ve been coping, honestly.” 

MacCready almost shuddered, thoughts directed to exactly what he’d been forced to do while ‘coping.’ Mackenzie seemed to pick up on the shift regardless, and continued. 

“MacCready,” She said gently. “Stop me if this is too personal, but… is the Overboss forcing you to-”

“Yes, he is,” MacCready knew exactly how that sentence was going to end and covered up the final words with his answer before he made himself sick with shame. He officially couldn’t meet Mackenzie’s sad eyes anymore. 

“I’m so sorry,” She said. “So many of us end up like that around here. I’ve treated a lot of patients for their… injuries.”

MacCready shrugged. “He doesn’t hurt me,” He said. “It’s not that bad.” Yet. 

“That’s good, at least,” Mackenzie said. There was a pause between her next words. “I’m glad you came to see me.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” MacCready said, then regretted it when he heard the implication. “But yeah, I’m glad I came too.” 

“Are you really thinking about killing yourself?” Mackenzie asked. 

MacCready could only reply with a dejected shrug. “I don’t know. I’m trying not to. I’m still… I- I still don’t want to die, I think. I just… I can’t keep doing this. It’s like waking up every day in a nightmare. I can’t trust anyone or anything, and now I can’t even trust myself.” 

Mackenzie reached forward to touch MacCready’s hand but stopped when he flinched. He muttered an apology, so did she. She didn’t try again. 

“Well,” She said, “like I said before, suicidal ideation is very common around here. It doesn’t mean you’ll actually end up hurting yourself. You are still in control of that - I know it isn’t much, but it’s something.” MacCready looked up at her, and she smiled at him as though they really were friends. “I’m afraid there isn’t much I can do to help treat those thoughts. There are chems that supposedly help, but they aren’t the kind that raiders keep in stock. I would avoid using random chems and alcohol to treat them yourself - I’ve seen too many ‘accidents’ happen that way. But if you ever need someone to talk to, I’ll be right here.”

MacCready was surprised to realize how much that statement actually helped, and it wasn’t just her assertion that he wasn’t doomed to off himself. He’d spoke with Mackenzie several times before, but they both followed the unspoken rule of never giving away too much of themselves in casual conversation. He didn’t know where she was from, or how she got here, or if she had family out there missing her - and vice versa. Yet here she was offering to be his confidant without a shred of doubt or worry, despite being in a similar situation herself. MacCready wondered if this was what it was like to have a mother. 

“I appreciate that,” MacCready said. It wasn’t enough, but he didn’t have the vocabulary to express just how much her offer meant to him. “Thank you. I really just- Thanks, Mackenzie.” 

She smiled. “Don’t mention it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Warning:** _Breif non-con sexual descriptions, crying, thighing, bondage, suicidal ideation_
> 
> I wish that AO3 would allow me to see how many views I get per chapter. I'm very curious to see how many people have made it this far. The only estimate I get is from comments, and I get not wanting to comment. I'm super shy about that sort of thing myself, especially on NSFW works. If you are here and comfortable, mind giving me a little ❤️ or something in the comments, just so I can see? :3
> 
> Also, I get that this fic is biiiit dark, especially without knowing how it will end. If it ever gets too much you can always skip to Part 2 where things start looking up. I have a habit of only posting things I've finished, and on this fic that was extra important because of just how mean I am in the first ten-or-so chapters. I didn't want to lose steam and leave this unfinished with MacCready still in hell, that would be so unsatisfying. 
> 
> Anyways, thanks for sticking with the fic thus far!! See you bastards in the next chapter >:3c


	8. *Stress Relief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Fun fact! The reason this chapter took longer to get out than the rest is because, up until yesterday, it did not exist - I didn't have any idea that it was going to. I got inspired and went back and forth about whether or not to include this as a chapter in the fic for a couple days, since after this the story picks up and there wouldn't really be a good place to insert it after the next chapter is out. So, good news to all you Hornies who want to see MacCready suck dick, you get a bonus pure sex chapter! For those of you more interested in the plot, don't worry, there's a lot of plot coming up in the next chapter <3
> 
> As always, see the end notes for Content Warnings.

MacCready was in the middle of cooking a late lunch when he heard a door slam. It came from the building down below, but the vibrations resounded up to where MacCready was standing and shook the pot of boiling water. The only person he knew capable of hitting a doorframe that hard was the Overboss. This… did not bode well for him. 

Almost as soon as he had the thought, he heard the elevator be recalled from the front of the terrace. He turned a knob on the stove, letting the gas flame die down. Whatever this was about, he had a feeling he was going to bear the brunt of it. He only hoped whatever frustrations the Overboss had could be placated by ranting. MacCready hadn’t been used as a punching bag just yet, but there were at least a handful of times he’d been used for other forms of ‘stress’ relief. 

“So, how’d the meeting go?” MacCready asked, stepping out from behind the counter. The Overboss came into view as the elevator made its final stop; he glared at MacCready, lips curled up. 

“How do you  _ think _ ,” He snapped, stomping off the platform as soon as it was stationary. He ripped off his long leather coat and threw it onto a chair before falling back into the cushions with a graceless  _ thump _ . MacCready watched him wearily. “The Operators are pissed that the Disciples have more settlements, the Disciples want to expand into the Commonwealth whereas the Pack wants to stay put, and the Pack and the Operators are pissed at each other over a slave dispute.” The Overboss rubbed his forehead with his fingers. “Christ. I miss when Porter would take care of the politics of all this.” 

_ Then maybe you shouldn’t have killed him, you psychotic bastard, _ MacCready thought. Honestly, there wasn’t any reason he shouldn’t say it out loud. The Overboss had proven that he didn’t care one way or another what MacCready thought about him; the only reason he kept quiet was because the Overboss wasn’t worth the headache of talking to.

The Overboss’ hand paused in the middle of massaging his temples and he glanced at MacCready, looking the merc over with a careful eye. MacCready swallowed. The Overboss had already taken off his jacket, leaving him in a loose button-up and little more. It was a thin piece of clothing, meant for summertime wear, and with the light behind him, MacCready could see the Overboss’ chest through the translucent fabric. 

“You,” the Overboss finally spoke, snapping his fingers. “Get over here.” 

“Yes, boss,” MacCready sighed, reluctantly walking forward. He’d known this was coming, but he still didn’t want to. The Overboss sat up a little straighter and touched MacCready’s cheek in an almost loving caress. His fingers hung on the stubble of his jaw, thumb massaging the bone’s sharp ridge.

“Get on your knees for me,” He said casually. MacCready followed the command, lowering himself slowly. He hated when this happened; when instead of moving him or taking him by force the Overboss gave him commands to follow. It felt like consent, like MacCready was allowing this to happen. Maybe he was, in some way. There was always the nagging feeling at the back of his mind that somehow this was something  _ he _ initiated, as though he weren’t trying hard enough to stop it. Maybe he was a bit too eager to comply with the Overboss, maybe he was just a little too scared of being murdered if he disobeyed. 

The Overboss’ hand followed his face down as MacCready knelt. The position he found himself in itself was nerve-wracking. He had a feeling he knew what was coming; he’d been on the receiving end of a blow job plenty of times before, after all. MacCready knew how to give oral sex, but only to girls, he’d never been in the position to suck cock before. The thought of having something pushed down his throat made his heart skip beats, and it wasn't from arousal. Lucy had promised him it wasn't uncomfortable at all, but it just seemed so unpleasant and _wrong_. 

His hesitance must have shown because the Overboss’ frustrated fast softened just a tad. “Ah, right,” He chuckled. “You haven’t done this before, have you, precious?” MacCready shook his head, and the Overboss tutted. “Well, there goes my plans of fucking your throat raw.” Thank  _ god _ . The thumb on his jaw rubbed circles into his flesh. “Don’t worry, we’ll go slow. I’ll show you exactly what to do.” 

MacCready nodded and watched uncomfortably as the Overboss fished around in his trousers before unbuckling his belt and freeing his semi-erection. MacCready hated that every time the Overboss took out his dick around him it was at least a little hard. He didn’t consider himself that attractive between the crooked yellow teeth and perpetually greasy hair, but there existed at least two people in this world who thought he was cute enough to fuck at a moment’s notice. 

“Start with your hands, darling,” The Overboss said, guiding MacCready’s fingers to his shaft. MacCready had touched the Overboss’ cock before, but even still the skin on his palms felt like they  _ burned _ with the contact. Regardless, he felt a vicarious twitch between his legs as he began stroking the cock gently. The Overboss leaned back and closed his eyes, a happy smile across his face. “That’s it… just like that.” 

MacCready’s face was crimson after only a few seconds of stroking. The Overboss wasn’t the only one getting hard. Yet again he felt complicit, but what was another small dig into his psyche? MacCready tried to focus on the feeling of stiff flesh in his hand, keeping his eyes closed and his mind blank. 

“That’s enough, that’s enough,” The Overboss said, hand on top of MacCready’s. “I think we’re ready to get inside that cute little mouth of yours, hm?” 

MacCready didn’t respond more than a little grunt as he awaited further instruction. He wanted to get this over with as soon as possible; his knees were already getting uncomfortable on the rough wooden floors. 

“Now, open up for me,” The Overboss said, shifting his hips so the tip of his cock was just in front of MacCready’s face. Despite it all, MacCready hesitated, uncertain and nervous. “Don’t worry, I’ve washed,” The Overboss soothed coyly. “We won’t go deep - just put your lips around it and we’ll go from there.” 

MacCready took a deep breath, the scent of musk and arousal in the air stirring up all kinds of feelings in him, and put his mouth around the head of the Overboss’ cock. It was… not as bad as he thought it would be. The first time he had heard about oral sex he had nearly gagged - the thought of putting someone else’s  _ anything _ in his mouth just seemed gross - but after puberty and one-or-two long nights with a girl he’d learned to love it. 

Having cock in his mouth was an entirely different experience; the protrusion touched the roof of his mouth and curved slightly to slide down the orifice and fill him up. His tongue rested naturally against the shaft, twitching so he could feel the texture of the appendage inside of him. The Overboss was circumcised - something MacCready only knew about from old-world magazines - giving his cock a slight ridge just below the head. Without realizing what he was doing, MacCready admired the mouthfeel and slight taste of salt on his tongue. His own eyes closed and he sighed softly through his nose. 

“Good boy,” The Overboss purred, stroking his hair tenderly. “You look like you’re having a good time already.”

He was right, and MacCready hated it. His cock had gone from resting between his thighs to half-hard without him even noticing. When this was over he was going to have to masturbate to fix that, assuming the Overboss wouldn’t find some way to take care of that himself. At the moment it was hard for him to tell which he would prefer (or rather, would hate the least).

“Get your lips around it and suck,” The Overboss said. “I want to feel the inside of your cheeks touch like the greedy little thing you are.” MacCready kept his eyes closed as he was instructed. He relaxed his jaw just slightly and puckered his lips around the length, pulling ever so slightly back as he sucked in. The Overboss got exactly what he wanted as his cheeks plastered the sides of his cock. He groaned deeply. “Not so hard, precious, not yet. Gently. Gently.”

MacCready had no idea what he was doing, but he tried his best to do as he was told. He had no idea why - maybe it was just his natural inclination to want to please his partner, even if his partner was a narcissistic psychopath. Maybe it was because this was turning him on way more than he thought it would. Either way, he pulled gently and leaned back until his lips caught around the head. He heard the Overboss moan and decided to go back down again. 

This time he went faster, letting the cock slide back down along his tongue until it touched the back of his throat. The moment the tip hit the soft flesh back there he gagged and coughed. The Overboss pulled back to allow MacCready to sputter and wipe the spit from his lips as he regained composure.

“S-sorry,” He said without thinking.

“It’s alright,” The Overboss said. “That happens sometimes. If it helps, try to keep the back of your tongue up so I don’t hit your uvula.” 

“T-the… the what?” MacCready asked. That sounded dirty. The Overboss laughed and MacCready suddenly felt a lot more self-conscious than when he'd had his lips wrapped around the man's dick. 

“I’ll give you a proper anatomy lesson later, when I’m a lot less hard,” He said, repositioning himself so that he was back in front of MacCready’s mouth. “Ready to try again?” 

MacCready nodded and once again his mouth was stuffed with cock. This time he tried as the Overboss suggested and blocked off his throat so that he was only penetrated to the back of his mouth. It helped alleviate some of the anxiety he had about the whole affair. The idea of something blocking off his airways was utterly terrifying; even if he had been with a partner he trusted it would scare the hell out of him. 

“Move your tongue,” The Overboss said. “Don’t be shy, explore a little.” 

MacCready wiggled his tongue, as he sucked, feeling out the stiff flesh. He recalled the times when he’d had his own dick sucked - by a handful of partners in the past as well as the Overboss - and tried to mimic what he remembered felt good. He was entirely lost in the act, for the first time finding himself actually enjoying himself while pleasuring the Overboss. If he had half a mind to question it, he'd be mortified. As it were, both halves of his mind were occupied by thoughts of cock. 

“That’s it… just like that,” The Overboss sighed, head leaned back and eyes fluttering. “Keep it up.” 

The words sent a spark through him, and MacCready couldn’t help a groan of his own. He dick was hard and his mind was empty save for the bare minimum required to do the actions he was performing. He sped up his movements, bobbing his head along the length as he worked his tongue back and forth, up and down. His hand came up on its own and wrapped around the root of the Overboss’ cock to jerk him off as he kept the head in his mouth. The Overboss cried sharply, chest heaving as MacCready brought him closer. 

“Yes,  _ Christ _ ,” He moaned. “God, you’re a fucking natural.” 

MacCready barely heard him, receiving the praise without thinking on it. The fingers of his left hand twitched on his lap, tapping against the fabric separating him from his own erection. He’d never tried jerking off with his left hand before; he didn’t think he had the mental capacity presently to try it now, even though he could feel his cock leaking with anticipation. His heart beat erratically against his chest, his skin warm as sweat began to form on his neck and trickle down his back. 

The Overboss threaded his fingers through MacCready’s hair and pulled. Pain rippled across his scalp, clearing his mind and causing his hips to jerk involuntarily. Worked to the absolute limit, MacCready’s mouth came off the length in a frenzied gasp as he caught his breath. 

“Ah… ah… fu… hnng…” MacCready lost the ability to make actual words as he panted. When he was sobered up he would wonder how on earth he’d managed to fall apart so quickly just by sucking another man off. The Overboss looked at him with pride and abject longing.

“Look at you,” He chuckled. “You’re just a  _ slut _ for my cock, aren’t you? I bet you’re already hard.” The Overboss leaned forward, grabbing MacCready by the cheek. “I bet you’re just dying to come right now, aren’t you?” 

“Ye… yes, boss,” MacCready said, eyes wide. He needed this. He needed release like he didn’t believe. Everything felt good just then, every sensation, every touch,  _ everything  _ was bringing him closer and yet would give him relief. 

“You’re just going to have to wait your turn, aren’t you?” The Overboss purred. “I want to come all over that cute face of yours, and then maybe I’ll let you finish.” 

The words struck MacCready like a hammer. His hands came up to grasp at the Overboss’ cock, but he was stopped with a swat to the back of his hand. 

“Naughty,” The Overboss chided. “I didn’t say you could touch, you greedy little thing.” 

“Sorry,” MacCready breathed. 

“All is forgiven,” The Overboss said, voice sultry and smooth. “Just hold real still for me.” 

MacCready stayed where he was, the stillness bringing his attention back to his sore knees and the ache in his calves from kneeling in this position for so long. How much time had he spent with his mouth wrapped around the Overboss’ cock? Too long, and yet not nearly long enough. MacCready waited and watched as the Overboss grasped himself and worked his wrist. He managed to hold the Overboss’ gaze as he jerked himself off, the eye contact keeping him hard and reminding him of exactly what he wanted. 

It didn’t take long for the Overboss to finish. Cock lubricated by MacCready’s saliva, his fingers were free to glide over the sensitive flesh and he came with a gush of fluids that sprayed in ribbons over MacCready’s left cheek. It caught his forehead and dripped down to his eye, but MacCready could hardly care. Now that the Overboss had come, it was his turn, and his dick now  _ ached _ with want as he knelt before the larger man in front of him. 

“Ahm.” 

The short cough from across the room snapped MacCready back to sobriety fast. The yearning smile he hadn’t even noticed fell immediately and he snapped his head to the side to see a large man in blue face paint - Mason, the Pack leader, if he recalled correctly - standing by the elevator, looking on at the scene with little more than annoyed impatience. 

MacCready felt the world crash down around him, heart hammering in his ears. His cheeks  _ burned  _ and he felt shameful tears prick his eyes. How long had he been standing there? MacCready hadn’t even noticed the elevator come up. It didn’t make much of a difference either way - MacCready’s face was still splattered with cum and the Overboss’ dick hung between them, now soft and limp. 

“What do  _ you _ want?” The Overboss said, tucking himself away and re-buckling his belt. He was completely oblivious to MacCready’s humiliation and shame, which came as absolutely no surprise to MacCready. 

“I came to continue our little _talk_ ,” Mason said. “I feel like you aren’t taking the Pack seriously anymore.” 

“You’re wrong, I never took you seriously in the first place,” The Overboss snipped at him. 

“You don’t seem to be taking anything seriously these days,” Mason fired back, eyeing MacCready with a judging glare.

MacCready tried to wipe away as much of the cum from his face as he could in a desperate sweep of his fingers as the two talked, keeping his eyes on the floor. He couldn’t imagine how he looked right now, on his knees like the good little pet he was, pleasuring the Overboss at his beck and call. MacCready didn’t think he would ever recover from this; the shame would haunt him for the rest of his life - and yet, stubbornly, his cock remained hard and aching between his legs. 

The Overboss rolled his eyes with a sharp sigh. “Fine, whatever,” He stood up, walking away from MacCready and leaving him to wallow on his own. “If we’re going to do this, you might as well take a seat.” The Overboss turned to address MacCready. while Mason made himself comfortable at the dining room table. “You, go wait inside,” He said, nodding to the apartment door, “and take care of yourself - this might take a while.” 

MacCready nodded, still not looking up from the floor as he rose. He shuffled across the room awkwardly, feeling himself stiff against his pants as he pushed through and headed for the more private rooms in back. He could still hear the Overboss discussing matters with the raider boss through the door, though he couldn’t make out specifics. MacCready threw himself against the bed and buried his face in his hands. Shame and embarrassment filled him, but there was no way he could process all that with his dick still hard. Reluctantly, he reached between his legs and started to touch himself.

It was more difficult than usual to get himself through, his mind treacherously looping back to the shame and embarrassment of being caught red-handed. MacCready kept his eyes closed and tugged while wiping moisture from his eyes. When he finally managed to come it was short, disgusting, and the ecstasy faded twice as fast as usual to give way to his usual post-orgasm misery. MacCready leaned back into the bed, sweat soaking into the covers uncomfortably beneath him. He felt disgusting, down to the bone. Why on earth did he act so enthusiastic about sucking the Overboss off? When did he get so complacent with his situation? 

The nagging voice at the back of his mind pestered him once more with thoughts of suicide, but MacCready had long since learned to swat it away like an annoying pre-war fly. There wasn't much left for him to do except curl up and maybe take a nap. MacCready was still hungry from his missed lunch, but his appetite would just have to wait. Not even the promise of mac and cheese could get him to face the two men outside right now. MacCready closed his eyes and forced his mind quiet as he waited for the wave of shame and self-loathing to subside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Warnings:** _Dub-con with mutual arousal, handjobs, blowjobs, dirty talk, masterbation, accidental voyarism_


	9. What was in that drink?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A longer chapter this time! Finally, some more plot uwu - unless :3c
> 
> Content warnings are at the end for some minor sexual content and one detail in particular

“So is your wife still around?” 

“Pass.” 

The Overboss made a noise in the back of his throat which MacCready interpreted as annoyed. “You know, this game is getting to be a lot more like ‘you-ask-I-dare’.” 

MacCready shrugged, not bothering with a response. He adjusted his rifle strap as he walked along the desert-like wastes that spanned between parks. The Overboss had suggested MacCready come along while he went on a patrol around Nuka-World. It was completely unnecessary - both MacCready’s involvement and the patrol itself. The area had long since been cleared of both inhabitants and wasteland creatures; the whole outing felt more like a leisurely stroll than work. MacCready wouldn’t be surprised if that was the true intention behind their outing. 

After several seconds of waiting, MacCready was issued his dare. “Hold my hand,” The Overboss said, flexing his fingers. When MacCready hesitated the man laughed. “Come on, at least until my next question.” 

Not really having a choice, MacCready grabbed the man’s gloved hand - thankfully, being in public had kept the dares tamer than their other games (at least the ones that weren’t put off until later that night). MacCready had no idea how the Overboss wasn’t sweltering in the jacket he was wearing, but maybe not feeling temperature was just another perk of being an immortal. It was a long black coat without obvious buttons that hung to his knees. The ballistic padding was evident; MacCready was pretty sure it could deflect most low-caliber shots. A jacket like that had to cost a fortune in caps, but MacCready already knew his boss hadn’t paid for it.

_ “You like the coat?”  _ The Overboss had said when he caught MacCready staring.  _ “It’s a courser’s uniform; I took it off the corpse of one I killed _ .” MacCready didn’t know what a courser was, and it must have shown on his face, because the Overboss elaborated.  _ “Coursers are - or were, I suppose - a type of synth designed by the institute to be the perfect killing machines. I’ve killed quite a few in my time, but this was the only coat I managed to recover intact.” _

MacCready didn’t doubt a word of the story. 

“It’s your turn to ask a question, MacCready,” The Overboss prompted after several minutes of silence. 

MacCready took a deep breath, still trying to put the feeling of warm, worn leather fingers around his out of his mind. “I’m thinking on it,” He said. After another few seconds, MacCready spoke. “Why d'you kill Porter? It seems to me like you could still use him around to manage things.” It was something he'd wanted to know for a while, but he'd put off asking. Mostly because he was sure he was going to hate the answer. However, with nothing left on his mind to ask and more than a little apathy sewn into his disposition, MacCready decided to act on the impulse.

The Overboss made a nonchalant noise at the back of his throat. “I don't like having two lovers at once. It complicates things.”  MacCready wrinkled his nose, trying to decipher what exactly had been so attractive about the greasy, one-eyed raider that someone like the Overboss would take an interest sexually. Maybe it was personality - the Overboss seemed psychotic enough to get off watching another man murder things. Unexpectedly, the Overboss actually continued and elaborated. “And before you waste another question asking, no, 'breaking up with him' wasn't exactly an option. For one, he had a lot more sway over the raider states than I did, and could have easily revoked my position as Overboss just like he did with the last man to leave him. And second...” The Overboss paused to laugh with a smile far too innocent for the conversation, “I simply don't like leaving my companions alive when I'm done with them. One of the most interesting things about a friendship is how it ends, and it can't properly end if one of you is still alive.”

MacCready shivered, unable to suppress a disgusted choke at the back of his throat. Undoubtedly, his time would come eventually. MacCready was willing to bet that even now the Overboss was envisioning just how he was going 'get rid' of his current companion when he was done with him. It had been evident from the beginning his days were numbered, but every reminder was just one more chip in his weathered sanity - especially when he was currently holding hands with the man who was planning to kill him. 

“Moving on,” The Overboss said after several seconds of silence, “I want to know what your favorite way to fuck is.”

The game continued on normally for several more turns after that - or at least, as normally as this game was ever played. MacCready tried his best to put the morbid answer to his question out of mind, but the thought continued to plague him. Finally, when his turn came around again, he spoke up.  “How many ‘companions’ have you had?” And then killed - though MacCready left that last part out. 

The Overboss laughed. “You’re going to have to give me a minute to think,” He said, putting his free hand to his chin. “It’s more than ten, probably. There was the detective, the synth girl, the raider girl, the spy," he scowled distasteful, though recovered quickly to continue. "I palled around with a super mutant for a little while.”

“No kidding?” Somehow that didn’t surprise MacCready as much as it should have. The only question it brought to mind was how the Overboss managed to get a super mutant on his side, though it seemed the man could charm just about anyone if he set his mind to it. He had a feeling that 'friendship' hadn't lead to sex, if only because MacCready could not imagine what sex with a super mutant would even look like. 

The Overboss continued counting off on his fingers. “Including you… I believe that would be twelve.” He said finally. “Oh no, wait - thirteen. I forgot about the reporter from Diamond City.” 

MacCready stopped walking, bringing the Overboss to a halt with him since they were still holding hands like a young couple. “Wait you don’t mean Piper, do you?” MacCready asked, surprising himself by recalling the girl’s name so quickly. 

“Yep, that’s the one,” The Overboss said cheerfully. “Did you know her?” 

MacCready shrugged. “I met her once or twice.” He said. It wasn’t as though they had been friends; MacCready had chatted her up once or twice when she found herself in Goodneighbor for a story. He made a few good caps protecting her once and occasionally acting as her informant when he had details she was willing to pay for. She was one of the good ones - it had genuinely stung when he found out she’d been murdered. Guess now he knew who did it. MacCready was far too numb to feel the anger bubbling in his chest. He did notice that his hands were balled up at his side now that he was free from holding this monster’s hand. 

“Well, since we both asked a question I say it’s my turn again,” The Overboss hummed. MacCready was used to the flexible rules of their little “game” by now. He kept pace beside the Overboss as he thought on a question. “What has been bothering you lately?”

MacCready looked at the Overboss, incredulous. “Is that a serious question?” MacCready asked. The Overboss nodded. MacCready’s nostrils flared while he reminded himself not to roll his eyes. He turned his head back in front of him as he listed off his reasons, feeling absolutely no reason to hold back. “I’m being held against my will in a city full of raiders, hundreds of miles from home, being forced to be your… sex slave or whatever, until I drop dead or you decide I'm not worth the trouble anymore and put one in the back of my head,” MacCready cringed at his own words, but kept going regardless. “I spend most of the day stepping over rotting corpses and sitting on the receiving end of death glares from raiders who are still pissed that I’m not Porter Gage, and the only thing to drink for miles is Nuka-f-friggin'-Cola.” MacCready huffed. He was getting worked up over this and it really wasn’t worth it. “Take your pick - any one of those seems like a good enough reason for me to be a little less than enthusiastic.” 

“I suppose,” The Overboss said. “It just feels like there’s more that you’re not telling me.” 

No kidding. MacCready refused to tell this man any more than the bare minimum about himself, and that wasn’t just to protect Duncan - though that was still the main reason. The Overboss’ interest in MacCready had nothing to do with compassion or genuine affection, it was pure greed, and it felt good to be able to withhold something from the tyrant wanted from him, no matter how small. 

The Overboss shrugged after a minute, frown fading into a mischievous smirk. “Oh well, guess I’ll just have to issue a dare then.”

“But I answered the question,” MacCready remarked. 

“No you skirted around the issue and left something out - I already told you no lying allowed. That includes lies by omission.” MacCready didn’t know what that meant, but he could guess. He crossed his arms over his chest and huffed.

“Fine, whatever,” He said. “What do you want me to do?”

“I found the cutest dress on one of the animatronics in the bottling plant - and it’s just your size. It's a 50s style pink hoop skirt with a black tie around the middle. I think it would look good on you.” The Overboss was smiling to himself, eyes shut like he was imagining just what he was going to do to MacCready when he got him in that dress. MacCready suppressed a shudder, soldiering on through the wastes at the Overboss’ side. 

\---

“-And so if you look in through here, you can see the hidden messages left for us true fans all over the park!” 

MacCready pulled the brim of his hat down over his eyes so he wouldn’t accidentally make eye contact with Sierra Petrovita. After wracking his brain for days as to where he’d heard the name before it finally clicked - she was that crazy lady who ran a Nuka-Cola museum back in Girdershade in the late 60s. MacCready had thankfully never had the misfortune of meeting her back when he lived in the Capital, but she was almost a legend back home. Or maybe it was more accurate to call her a cautionary tale. 

Fortunately for MacCready, it seemed she had someone else’s attention for the moment. A bald man in an old-world Nuka-Cola t-shirt and sunglasses was chatting enthusiastically with the crazy blonde about the history of the park. He probably was just faking interest in hopes of getting into her campy Nuka-Cola shorts - poor guy must have it bad. MacCready tried to give them a wide berth but ended up accidentally walking himself right into the line of sight of the guy with the sunglasses. 

“Hey there,” The guy said. “Name’s Jaques - I’m new around here. This lovely little lady was giving me a rundown of the history of this equally lovely place,” Sierra somehow seemed genuinely flattered to be compared to the grotesque raider’s den, “but I think I need a bit more of an ‘interactive tour’, if you catch my drift.”

Oh great, so he’s a nut too. MacCready didn’t have the time or energy for this. He was supposed to meet the Overboss back at the apartment before six for a ‘special evening’ the guy had planned for him. MacCready had a feeling it involved that dress the Overboss had mentioned earlier. 

“Market’s back that way, area around the corner, exit’s over there. Don’t spend too much time wandering in the other parks unless you wanna end up a decoration,” MacCready said, attempting to step past the man but was blocked by surprisingly fast reflexes for someone who didn’t seem to be a scavver. 

“Actually, I was hoping you could take me around the park - give me a more,  _ personal _ tour - you know,  _ alone _ ,” Jaques sounded like he was winking behind the shades. MacCready grit his teeth, ready to give this man a new nose; the last thing he wanted was  _ two  _ crazy guys trying to flirt with him. At least this one he could actually do something about. 

Before he gave the bald weirdo a piece of his mind - and maybe a loose tooth - Sierra piped up between them. “Aw, Jacky. You didn’t forget about our deal, did you?” She said, grabbing the man’s arm. Jaques turned back to her and smiled. 

“Don’t worry, I haven’t,” Jaques assured her. By the time he looked back to where MacCready had been, he was gone. 

MacCready practically sprinted to join the crowd by the pond in front of the Overboss’ apartment. Being small meant that disappearing into a crowd was easier for him than most. He pressed the button on the elevator a little more urgently than normal; he couldn’t believe he was actually running  _ towards _ the Overboss and whatever messed up plans the man had for him. Suppose it was wise to pick the devil you know… Once as MacCready was on the platform he hit the button to head up, watching Sierra and the new weirdo grow small in the crowd.

Maybe it was a trick of the light, but MacCready swore he saw the bald man’s eyes looking at him from the corner of his sunglasses.

“You’re early,” The Overboss commented, quickly filling two glasses from a tumbler he’d been shaking. The man seemed nervous, though just barely - not enough to make MacCready comment, though. 

_‘I figured I might as well get this over with.’_ MacCready almost said before thinking better of it. Why waste his breath? Instead, he just shrugged and dropped his rifle off by the bar. 

“I hope you’re hungry,” The Overboss said. “There was a shipment of brahmin meat, so I am making us both stakes and instamash with gravy.” 

MacCready had to admit, that sounded good. He hadn’t eaten much at lunch, and he was never one to turn down a good stake. It was almost enough to make him forget whatever ‘surprise’ the Overboss had in store for him. Almost.

“I also made us some mix drinks - have you ever had a Manhattan?” MacCready shook his head. “It’s about as far as you can get from Nuka-Cola. I figured you might appreciate something a little bitter to drink.”

“Thanks,” MacCready said, reaching for a glass. The Overboss caught his hand before he could take it, pulling the knuckles up to his mouth with a kiss.

“Anything for you, darling,” He said. MacCready shivered, forgetting himself entirely. The longing look that appeared in the Overboss’ eyes when he cringed told him that was a mistake.

MacCready was handed a drink and forced into a toast. To what, he couldn’t really say, he hadn’t been paying attention. Almost as soon as he took his first sip he felt like he could finally relax, despite the fact that he choked on the drink as soon as it entered his mouth. To say it was nothing like Nuka-Cola would be an understatement. 

“What is in this?” MacCready asked. 

“Vermouth, whisky, bitters,” The Overboss said, running a finger around the rim of his glass. 

“It tastes... spicy,” MacCready commented. The Overboss snickered. 

“Bitters have that effect,” He said. “I thought it might be refreshing to have something a little less sweet for a change.” At least on that, MacCready could agree. After another few test sips MacCready was swallowing the drink eagerly. What had the Overboss called this? It was some weird long name starting with an 'M'. He’d have to remember it if he ever made it to a real bar again. It didn’t take long for MacCready to finish off the drink as he watched the Overboss seer the stakes on the stove. The whisky kicked in hard, making the world feel rounder at the edges and just a bit brighter. The last few swallows left a slightly salty taste in MacCready’s mouth, a fine powder pooled in the last of the liquid clinging to the bottom of the glass. 

“Did you put salt in this?” MacCready asked as the Overboss carried two plates filled with rare steaks and potatoes over to the counter. 

“Something like that,” The Overboss hummed. “It's a sodium, of sorts. I take it from the empty glass you liked the drink?” 

MacCready nodded, smiling despite himself. How strong was whiskey again? He hadn’t had it in a long time - not since he was sixteen, at least. He felt drunker than he should, he could barely get his hand around his fork. He managed to stab into the meat and cut himself off a slice, staring at the blood pooling on the plate, mixing with the potatoes. He was transfixed by the sight; was that his blood…? 

“Are you feeling alright, precious?” The Overboss asked.

MacCready felt like his head was underwater; he could barely hear what the Overboss was saying to him. He nodded along, taking small bites of his potatoes and occasionally sampling the stake. 

MacCready traced circles in the blood in front of him, watching the liquid smear under his finger. He brought his hand up to his face, examining the red beads running down his finger. Something about the way it looked wasn’t right. Where had the blood come from? He leaned back against the couch, staring at the blood pooling at the base of his nails for a long time. After a long moment, MacCready stuck the bloody appendage in his mouth, tasting it. 

“Ah, don’t do that. That’s not very sanitary,” The Overboss said, rushing to his side. MacCready looked up from his lap and accepted an ice-cold bottle to press to his head. Blood dripped from his ear and stained his shirt. MacCready leaned his head against the cushions of the ratty couch and squeezed his eyes shut. His hand was barely strong enough to hold the cold bottle to his injured head. The Overboss sat beside him, rubbing MacCready’s back. “That was quite a fall you took.”

“Yeah,” MacCready mumbled and slurred through his reply.

“Do you like your steak?” 

MacCready looked up from his plate at the Overboss. He had been distracted. The Overboss was already done with his steak, plate clean save for a few smears of red. The man could eat fast - or maybe MacCready was just slow, still barely halfway done with his meal. How long had they been at dinner again?

“About an hour,” The Overboss said, fingers brushing over MacCready’s hair as his head sat cradled in the other man’s lap. The Overboss was careful not to touch the swollen bruise on MacCready’s forehead, but MacCready could hardly feel it at all. “Though this time of year, you never know.” MacCready felt a gentle kiss pressed to the unmarred side of his head. “Thank you for trusting me, MacCready. I promise, I won’t let you down.” 

MacCready looked out over the balcony at the shimmering lights of Nuka-World. The sky was ashy, the stars fading in the early dawn. The town beneath them bustled like a pre-war city, or at least, how MacCready imagined a pre-war city would be. It really was a beautiful, magical place. 

“It’s alright,” MacCready said, taking another bite of steak. “I prefer steak well done.” He was starting to feel nauseous and suddenly he was really looking forward to going to bed. He hoped that whatever ‘surprise’ the Overboss had in store for him didn’t take too long.

“I’ll remember that for next time,” The Overboss said. “I forget that people have very particular preferences when it comes to steak.”

“I bet you forget people have preferences a lot, actually.” 

“What was that?” 

“I- hnnng knnmm,” MacCready mumbled, eyes blinking slowly. The world was sideways. His head was hot and leaking. Was that his blood? Yeah, yeah it was. His legs were tangled up in the legs of the chair, and the Overboss was at his side, carefully unweaving him from the toppled furniture. MacCready saw shards of broken glass and ruined meat catch in his hair as he was pulled from the floorboards and into the Overboss' arms. 

“There there, It’s alright,” The Overboss’ voice was soothing. MacCready leaned into the man’s chest, muscles too relaxed and weak to do anything else. The Overboss’ fingers traced the slick spot at his temple where he had nicked the side of the table on his way down. “That’s a bad cut, hm? We better get you a stimpack for that.” 

“Got any water?” MacCready asked after he finished coughing. Bits of mashed potatoes flew from his mouth in an unflattering display. He was having trouble swallowing, the muscles in his throat barely responding to commands. 

“Of course, let me get you a can,” The Overboss said, standing up and taking his plate to the kitchen. MacCready stifled another cough as he reached for his cocktail glass in the hopes there might be just a drop of that strange, bitter drink left to help clear his throat. The residue at the bottom of the glass had solidified, clinging to the rounded surface of the cup, absorbing the last of the water. What was that stuff?

A hand grabbed MacCready’s hair while another wrapped desperately around his stiff cock. He felt the pressure of his roots being pulled but there wasn’t any pain. He couldn’t feel pain anymore - all that existed in the universe was ecstasy and bliss. Teeth wrapped around his neck as his heart threatened to beat out of his chest. A hand was stroking him in fevered motions, making MacCready’s hips jerk in sluggish twitches. Drool trailed down his jaw as his eyes rolled back so he could see the Overboss’ own euphoric expression.

“God, you look so fucking beautiful when you come undone,” The Overboss said, a finger swabbing the spit from MacCready's face. Those digits ended up tucked into MacCready’s cheek, probing his mouth. If he had just a little more muscle control he’d wrap his lips around them and suck. 

This was wrong - more so than usual. They shouldn’t be doing this. MacCready couldn’t move - he felt paralyzed, trapped - but he wasn’t afraid. There wasn’t any place in his mind left for fear, only confusion. This was not good. They shouldn’t be doing this right now. MacCready shouldn’t be letting him do this because

“You drugged me,” MacCready said in disbelief, head pounding. “Oh my god... oh my _god_ \- _you drugged me_!” How had he not noticed? Was he really this stupid? What sort of idiot let's their guard down so much that they allow themselves to be drugged by a man who, just that afternoon, had openly talked about killing him. MacCready was breathing too fast, as though he couldn’t catch up to his body's demands for air. Was that an effect of the drug? Was it poison? Were his lungs slowly giving out? Oh god, the Overboss finally had enough of him, hadn't he? MacCready shoved his chair back, stumbling and swaying. He grabbed the corner of the table, but he didn’t have the strength to grip it properly.

“MacCready-!”

MacCready blinked sluggishly, arms wrapped around a pillow. The sun was up and shining in his face. There was pain in his head like he’d never felt before, as though someone had a knife skewered through both his temples and poking at the stems of his eyeballs. He squeezed his eyes shut and pulled a blanket over his head. 

His mind was clearer than it had been before. Before what though, it was hard to say. MacCready remembered being drugged at dinner, but only vaguely, and he wasn’t entirely sure if the memory was real or not. Nothing made sense anymore, except that he was experiencing the worst hangover he’d ever had in his twenty-four years. His gut rolled inside him like it was a living animal; he was too weak to much more than ball up and wait for his nausea to pass. 

After some time MacCready managed to worm his way out of the covers and pull himself up to sit. He was in the bed on the terrace, an early summer breeze drifting through the open room. Daring to crack his eyes open against the light, MacCready saw a bottle of Cola sitting on the nightstand along with a folded up note. His eyes were too unfocused to read, but he nursed at the sugar and bubbles in the glass until his stomach settled.

He was dizzy and unsteady, but MacCready tried to slide himself out of the bed and onto his feet with little initial success. Slumped down on the ground, MacCready worked to remember a little more of what had happened the night before. Everything came in flashes and blurs, moments cut apart and sewn back together like a patchwork collage made by a toddler. MacCready’s head pulsed with agony - there was a tender spot just above his right ear. MacCready pressed a hand to the side of his head; he found a new tear in the top of his ear, a cut through the top ridge where the skin hadn’t regrown back together after being stimpacked. MacCready felt like he was going to be sick. 

MacCready finally found the strength to pull himself to his feet. He was mostly naked, yet somehow in his underwear - with what little he remembered from the night before he had fully expected to be fully bare down there. 

He stumbled his way through vertigo and overly-relaxed muscles and into the kitchen to grabbed at the empty cups under the bar. He pulled one out, squinting to examine the glass and swiping his finger across the bottom, just in case. It was clean. MacCready filled the cup with water and downed it in a single, long draw. He refilled it and drank another. 

The apartment was too quiet - MacCready had fully expected to hear some degrading remark from the Overboss by now, but all was quiet. The man wasn’t here, MacCready felt unusually certain of that. The thought made him shaky, but he couldn’t remember why. 

MacCready ended up sitting back down on the floor by the bar after his third glass of water. He clumsily riffled through the cabinets below, searching for something quick and easy to eat. He found a can of cram and half a carrot. Considering the state of his stomach and the taste of pre-war canned meat, MacCready skipped the cram and bit into the carrot. 

The Overboss had spiked his drink last night; MacCready hated that he felt betrayed. He had been expecting something unpleasant when the Overboss had told him he had a surprise in store for him, but being drugged without his knowledge or consent hadn’t even crossed his mind. The fact of the matter was, if the Overboss had demanded MacCready take the chem outright there wasn’t much MacCready could do to deny him. There was just no reason to trick him like that. Was it just a sex thing? The Overboss seemed like the kind of sick freak who got off just by slipping something in their partner’s drink. 

No, it was something else. MacCready had figured it out last night, but now he couldn’t remember. 

The line of thinking was making him anxious again, and MacCready really wanted to know where the Overboss was. He still felt shaky on his feet, but MacCready was able to move so he searched the apartment for his pants and a shirt that he could clumsily wiggle his way into before calling the elevator. MacCready held onto the wooden edges tight enough to leave splinters as the elevator creaked and jostled its way down. For his efforts, MacCready was greeted by the sight of a rifle muzzle just in front of his nose.

“Back inside, mutt,” A member of the pack, dressed as a cartoonish impression of some long-extinct animal MacCready only knew from comics, “you better move fast unless you want to be put down.”

“Move, jerk. I’m going to find the Overboss,” MacCready snarled, knowing that between his overly-pale face and hangover sweats he was far from intimidating. A raider from the Operators scoffed at him; she seemed to be on guard duty with the animal-man. 

“Boss’ orders,” She said. “He’s gone out on a mission. Said he’ll be back in a few days and he wants us to keep you inside so you don’t go running off.”

“So be a good boy and press that big red button so you can wait for your master upstairs,” The Pack man growled as if trying to imitate whatever animal he was dressed as. MacCready snarled right back, but put his hand on the button and let the lift take him back to the apartment. He could barely stand and the raider lady seemed like she was just looking for an excuse to have fun with him, and from what he knew about their gang that fun would probably involve most of MacCready’s internal organs being outside of him. 

Beneath the utter rage MacCready felt boiling in him after being patronized by raiders, MacCready was fairly worried about this new development. The Overboss had never tried to restrict his movements like this before; so far he’d been exceedingly trusting of MacCready’s sense of self-preservation (and his cowardices, MacCready hated to admit). MacCready had no idea what had changed, thanks to the chems he’d been slipped last night, and that was terrifying all on its own. 

MacCready slumped down in a chair in the shade. The air was warm against his skin, which helped with the chills that kept rolling through him along with nausea and spins. He tried to focus hard on what he remembered from the night before, which at first only led to more throbbing aches in his skull. Memories came in flashes - falling down, hitting his head, the chilled Nuka-Cola he’d used as an icepack, his head cradled by the Overboss as the other man brushed his hair. They had been taking about something - something really,  _ really _ important. MacCready locked in on the memory.

_ Fingers around his throat, stroking the muscular flesh with thick, rough touches. MacCready panting, unable to catch his breath as he choked on his own spit.  _

_ “MacCready, say my name, say my name,” The Overboss commanded. MacCready didn’t remember it; it didn’t matter anyways, he was too weak to move his mouth to form words. All he could do was pant and moan while the Overboss thrust his fingers into his- _

MacCready shook his head. Wrong memory. Very,  _ very _ wrong memory. Great, now he couldn’t even remember what he’d been looking for. He rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hands. Think. Him and the Overboss, on the couch together (was this before or after that last memory? Doesn’t matter. It was before - they still had their clothes on), they were talking about something. 

_ “What’s your real name, precious?” The Overboss asked. _

_ “MacCready,” MacCready said, not understanding the question in his haze. _

_ “That sounds like a last name,” The Overboss commented. “Do you know your first name?” _

_ “Mhmm,” MacCready murmured. “I hate it.”  _

_ “Why’s that?” The Overboss’ fingers caught in the tangles of MacCready’s hair.  _

_ “It’s a dumb name,” MacCready admitted. “Robert.” _

_ The Overboss chuckled. “That’s not such a bad name,” He said. “Robert MacCready, hm?” He said the words, testing out the way it sounded. MacCready wrinkled his nose.  _

_ “Robert Joseph MacCready,” He corrected. “It sounds better... with the ‘Joseph’ in there.” _

_ “Robert Joseph MacCready,” The Overboss chuckled. “I like it. Not many people have a middle name these days. Just one more thing to make you special.” _

MacCready frowned. That’s why the Overboss had drugged him? Because he was tired of MacCready holding out on him in their little truth games? Actually, considering who the Overboss was, that made a surprising amount of sense. He didn’t seem like the type of man who could handle not getting what he wants. 

Thankfully, MacCready had pretty much already told him everything important, and the parts he’d left out the Overboss had guessed himself. All that was left to take were the bits and pieces of his past MacCready had hoarded in a bid to maintain just a little bit of control. It was a shame to lose yet another part of himself to that man, but it wasn’t like there was anything important left to hide. The Overboss had already figured out MacCready had a kid and that said kid was dying - the man was a lot more perceptive than MacCready had initially given him credit for - the only thing he didn’t know was where to…

Oh. 

MacCready’s eyes widened. His heart sped up and he leaned over the side of the chair as bile made its way up his throat. He felt like he was freezing, the sweat that had already been springing up over his drug-riddled body intensifying in volume. Oh god, please no.

MacCready tried to calm down, tried to tell himself that he would  _ never, never _ \- no amount of drugs could make him do it. But it was just so strange, so unlike the Overboss to leave without him and put an armed guard around the apartment. MacCready put his head on his knees, panting wildly. He had to remember, right now. Everything that he said and exactly how he said it. 

_ “I was mayor for almost six, maybe seven years?” MacCready mumbled. _

_ "Really?" the Overboss said. "How did your tenure come to an end?"  _

_ “I just sorta stopped caring and gave up being in charge. N’ then when I was sixteen I left, joined up with some Gunners and had a pretty good thing goin’ until I met Luc.”  _

_ “Your wife?” The Overboss clarified. MacCready nodded.  _

_ “She was a year younger than me when she got pregnant. Her parents didn't like me - kicked her out when they found out I knocked her up. I told her she should take the kid back to Little Lamplight and hang out there until they kicked her out. Safest place for a kid in the ‘wastes, but she said no. Said she wanted to keep the baby, and she wanted me to stay so the kid wouldn’t end up as another wasteland bastard - like me." Honest self-loathing made its way into his voice. MacCready shook it off. "And so like an idiot I went along with her idea stuck around to raise the kid in the Wasteland. She might still be alive if she hadn’t decided Duncan needed a father more than a safe spot in Lamplight. She trusted me, and she didn't even know me.”  _

MacCready cringed. He hadn’t ever told anyone about that. The guilt of inadvertently causing Lucy’s death by staying by her side when he should have forced her to bunker down in Little Lamplight with the rest of the orphans was everpresent in his mind. He loved her and Ducan more than anything, and in the end that’s what got her killed. Mortifying though that may be, it wasn’t what MacCready needed to remember. 

_ “When did you leave the Gunners?” _

_ “A few years ago,” MacCready said. _

_ “Why?”  _

_ “They’re monsters,” MacCready replied. “They were everything I hated about the mungos.” _

_ “Mungos?”  _

_ “ ‘S what we called adults, back in Little Lamplight,” MacCready said. “I let that be my excuse for a real long time. I was doing terrible things, hurtin’ good people, and I just kept sayin’ ‘well, that’s just what mungos do.’ Couldn’t fault me for bein’ what I was.” MacCready sagged in the Overboss’ arms. “Stupid. I’m stupid, n’ selfish n’ cruel - just like you.” _

_ “No, sweetheart,” The Overboss assured him after a brief kiss to the head. “You’re nothing like me.” _

_ “I’m disgusting.” _

MacCready dry heaved, feeling phantom touches around his waist and fingers on his spine. He shook off the imaginary mouth tonguing the place where his shoulder met his neck and continued probing his memories. What else had he said, what else-

_ “Why won’t you talk dirty with me?” The Overboss asked. “You’ll do everything I ask you to, but even while we’re having sex you refuse to say ‘fuck’ or ‘ass’ or ‘cock’.”  _

_ MacCready shook his head. “I made a promise ‘bout that. I’m not supposed to swear anymore.” _

_ “Who’d you make that promise to?” The Overboss raised a brow.  _

_ “Me,” he said. “Back when I was with Luc I was pretendin’ to be someone I wasn’t. Told myself it was just so I could get that cute farmer girl to like me, but turns out I liked bein' the person I was when I was around her. N’ then she was gone, and I didn’t wanna go back to bein’ the real me. So I’m tryin’ t’ be better until that’s the me that’s real.” _

_ “That’s surprisingly profound,” The Overboss said. “It must have been a convenient change since you had a child on your hip, so to speak.” The Overboss smiled, “I’ve heard that the little ones pick up on swears faster than any other word.”  _

_ “Yeah,” MacCready smiled back. “Duncan heard me do it once and I swear it almost killed his mother. She was laughing so hard and tryin’ t’ tell him it was wrong while catchin’ her breath. He just kept sayin’ it over an’ over cuz it made his mom laugh.” _

_ “Sounds cute,” The Overboss said, stroking his hair. “I don’t much care for children myself.” _

_ “I'm shocked,” MacCready mumbled sarcastically. The Overboss laughed at the comment.  _

_ “I suppose it would be rather obvious,” He said. “You seem very fond of your little spawn.” _

_ “Duncan’s my world,” MacCready said, closing his eyes. “Only reason I’d ever come to this messed up part of the ‘wastes. Killed me to leave him back in the Capital.” _

Oh god - please.

_ The Overboss’ smile widened like a shark staring down a lone fish. “Tell me about Duncan.” _

Not him. Please, anything but that. 

_ MacCready hummed. “He turns eight in a few months, I think. I don’t know what day he was born on, but it was sometime right around end of summer.” _

_ “Such a tender age,” The Overboss said. “I take it he’s not doing well.” _

_ “Yeah,” MacCready murmured, face falling. “He’s more stable than he was a few years ago, but he still can’t walk. Got these… big bumps all over him. I was supposed to find a cure, but it was locked up tight before the bombs fell. So now all I've managed to do is abandon him back home like the piece of trash I am.” _

_ The Overboss’ eyes shined. “Is that so?”  _

No, no, no,  _ no, no no no NO! _

_ “Where is he now?” _

_ “Back at the Capital with some friends.” _

_ The Overboss cocked his head. “Must be some friends for you to trust them with a sickly child like that.” _

_ “They’re good people,” MacCready replied, “they’ll take care of him like he’s their own kid. Can't have one themselves, so they like havin' him around.” _

_ “And where are these friends of yours?” _

Stop!!!! Please, stop!

_ MacCready shook his head. The Overboss poked his cheek with a finger playfully.  _

_ “Come on, you can tell me,” The Overboss said.  _

_ “Can’t. Too important,” MacCready’s voice was sleepy, slurring more than usual. He put up no resistance as the Overboss stroked the side of his face soothingly. MacCready leaned into the pleasant touch. _

_ “You can trust me, MacCready,” He said sweetly, “tell me where he is.” _

Don’t do this. Please,  _ please- _

But what was done was done; all of this was little more than a faded memory now, and MacCready had no say in what happened next. 

_ MacCready smiled; if he were a cat he’d be purring by now. The soft fingers scratched in just the right places, tickling his stubble and arousing him despite the drugs in his system keeping him soft.  _

_ “Come now, MacCready, don’t keep me waiting,” The Overboss said, low and smooth. _

_ “Well… _ ”  _ MacCready hummed, eyes cracking open just a tad. He smiled and spoke, much to the horror of his later self. “Okay.” _

MacCready’s blood froze in his veins. He cupped a hand over his mouth, fearing he might vomit again. He shook hard enough to rattle the chair, petrified as he reeled. He silently begged God - _any_ God, old and new - that the memory was a lie. He replayed the scene over and over in his head, hearing his voice spell out exactly where the Overboss could find his son. 

MacCready wanted to cry so badly, but he didn’t have time. He threw himself out of the chair, weaving and wobbling as he searched the apartment for his guns. Gone. His rifle wasn’t where he’d left it the previous night and the pistol he’d been gifted had vanished from his coat pocket. Of course, the Overboss wouldn’t leave him on lockdown with his guns; MacCready wondered if it was to protect the raiders from him or to protect MacCready from himself. Probably a mix of both. 

MacCready sunk to the floor, eyes hot and heavy in his skull. Without a weapon MacCready would have no chance of getting past the guards alive - heck, even with one it would be a toss-up of how far MacCready would get before his back became target practice for the all-too-eager raiders. Throwing away his life wouldn’t help save his son, but MacCready couldn’t possibly just stay here while that bastard hunted down Duncan. 

Out of the corner of his eye, MacCready caught the folded-up piece of paper on the nightstand by the bed. It sat up in a triangle; he could see from where he was the Overboss’ neat cursive writing. He’d never learned cursive - he barely knew how to read at all - but MacCready rushed over to the paper and unfolded it in a flurry of movements. 

It took him several minutes to decipher the text, but in the end, all it said was  _ ‘Off on business, be back in three-ish days, love. Stay in the apartment until I return. Try not to miss me too much ♥’ _

MacCready put the note back down and curled up on the bed, allowing himself to cry just a little to relieve the pressure building up in his head. Once he started he couldn’t stop; the shame of bawling like a child was entirely lost behind the horror of knowing that he failed at keeping Duncan safe. He’d killed so many people, nameless settlers, scavengers, Lucy - if Duncan ended up alongside them MacCready would make sure the last person he killed was himself. If he could manage it, the Overboss would take the second-to-last spot on that list.

Sobbing so hard he choked, MacCready pressed his head into the pillows. His heartfelt like it was cracking in his chest. He stayed quiet, just in case the raiders heard him and decided to ‘give him something to cry about’, but it didn’t make the crying any less intense. 

He told himself to hold out hope - it was entirely possible that the Overboss left for something unrelated to what he’d learned. It felt unlikely, but it was possible. There was also the fact that there just wasn’t any reason for the Overboss to kill his son. He was a cruel, ruthless monster, but he wasn’t stupid. If MacCready lost his son there wouldn’t be any reason for him to keep going. As soon as the Overboss turned his back MacCready would blow his own brains out or jump from the roof, and the Overboss seemed to want MacCready alive, at least for now. 

It could also be that he was going to fetch Duncan and bring him back. MacCready wasn’t sure how he felt about that possibility; selfishly, he would be ecstatic to be with his son again, but he was sickly as it was, and no amount of the Overboss’ protection would make MacCready feel safe with his boy in the center of the raider city. It didn’t matter - that fantasy was about as likely as the Overboss being off on a shopping trip. He had said he didn’t like kids, and there was no reason to bring Duncan here except to make MacCready happy, which was obviously not a priority for the man who’d been raping him for the past month. 

This could also be his way of blackmailing MacCready. It was obvious that any threat against Duncan would be met with complete and total compliance from MacCready. It didn’t matter what he was asked to do - lie, cheat, steal, sex, murder, MacCready would (and in some cases, had) done it all to keep his kid safe. The last piece of Lucy still in this world, the one person he knew he could trust and love with all his heart. There was very little MacCready hadn’t already promised to the Overboss, but now that he knew where Duncan was that control was complete, which also begged the question as to why it was necessary to actually  _ go _ to the Capital? Maybe he just wanted to check to see if MacCready had been telling the truth.

MacCready’s head pounded and threatened to crack open from the strain of his sobs. Exhausted, yet still miserable, MacCready sunk back down into the pillows and stared at the wall. There was just nothing he could do, no matter what the reality was. He had no weapons, no armor, no way of getting himself to the Capital faster than the Overboss, cap-less and unarmed as MacCready was. The only thing he could do was lay down and accept the wait. Three days, give or take. MacCready wouldn’t last. His mind had already wandered back to that dark, cruel place and, for the first time, MacCready actively listened. There were no guns left in the apartment, but there may be a knife still lying around. It would be messy and painful, but no worse than the agony of waiting here to find out if his son was still alive. The chem he’d been given the night before was fairly powerful - taken in a high enough dose MacCready was sure it would kill him, especially if mixed with alcohol. The coma would come quick, and the worst of it would be the feeling of paralysis as it took his lungs and heart. 

MacCready shook his head slowly, brain sloshing against his aching skull. No, he wouldn’t kill himself just yet. He had to wait this out, just in case all hope wasn’t lost. He would just have to learn to live with the fact that he was officially the world's worst father over the next few days. 

MacCready closed his eyes, his brain accepting the mild relief of being shielded from the mid-morning sun. There was nothing he could do. He hiccuped softly and let his mind drift to sleep. He didn’t dream, and it was a relief. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Warnings:** _Minor sexual content, non-consentual drugging, flashbacks to forced sexual contact, suicidal ideation_


	10. Two days in hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the delay! I managed to get myself sick - not with Covid, though, this is just me suffering the consequences of my own actions, which I think is entirely unfair. I've left you guys on a cliffhanger for too long, so I managed to snip this chapter in half for easier editing, which also helps to isolate the smut for later consumption in the next chapter uwu. So, if this seems a bit shorter than usual, that's why. I just keep adding chapters to this thing by mistake XD
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!

MacCready had never experienced a span of forty-eight hours that dragged on as long as the next two days. The door to the apartment's interior was locked, leaving MacCready stranded in the indoor-outdoor terrace. It had also effectively locked him out of the bathrooms, but MacCready found ways to make due - undignified as it was. He hardly felt the blow to his pride; he didn't feel much of anything after those first few hours of shock. 

MacCready found the stash of comics that the Overboss had offered to him weeks ago. It seemed that the man had picked up all kinds of literary goodies from the Commonwealth. Some were from before the war, others were scribbled knock offs on homemade paper - a few were little more than instructional guides on survival that MacCready could barely wrap his head around without pictures. MacCready flipped through the pages, but he couldn’t keep his mind occupied, not even on the comics he'd read a hundred times as a kid. 

The Overboss had been gratuitous enough to leave MacCready with plenty of food that went mostly untouched. MacCready’s appetite was gone; he only ate when bored, nibbling on mutfruit and ‘tatos without tasting them. He had to remind himself to drink water every few hours when his headache went from dull throbbing to full-on migraine. The air was hot and humid as spring began turning the corner into summer - the thickness of it was suffocating and made it hard to think, not that he wanted to do much of that at present. 

On the evening of his first day, MacCready found a pack of cigarettes that were left for him on the night table. He hadn’t noticed them there when he went for the note. As the last of the sun disappeared over the park, MacCready puffed smoke over the balcony and thought about what Duncan would be doing about right then. He would probably be getting ready for bed - his guardians have to dress him now that fatigue made it hard for him to move his arms. MacCready had sent caps over a few months back for new pajamas - a soft cotton set that wouldn’t irritate his sensitive skin. He wondered if Duncan had started learning to read. Both of his guardians were about as literate as MacCready, and they had a few books in the house. He could imagine his son curled up with a man gently pointing to pictures and pairing them with words. The man the scene wasn't him - and probably never would be again. 

And while he smoked and watched the imagined memory of his son’s nightly routine, a new figure entered the vision. Long black hair and blood-soaked boots, dressed in the courser’s uniform as a show of power. There is a scream as MacCready watches his friend shot in the chest, the other adult in the room going for their own weapon before being gunned down themselves. It was no use, even if they attacked the intruder it wouldn't stop him. The man smiles like an apex predator, walking towards MacCready’s cowering son with outstretched arms.

MacCready blinked and puts a hand to his eyes, wiping away the tears. The cigarette burned down to his fingers before MacCready realized. He took one final drag on the stub and flicked it over the balcony. 

The second day MacCready woke in a state of panic and spent the morning hyperventilating and clawing at his hair. He hadn't drempt; he didn't need to - his reality was already nightmare enough. His heart stuttered in his chest even after calm had been restored. He paced the kitchen area, going through the last of the cigarettes so he could have something to do with his hands. He coughed for the rest of the afternoon.

In his head, he played over everything that the Overboss could do to his son, and everything he could do about it, which was absolutely nothing. Scenarios rolled through his mind like an old-world film reel - the Overboss killing Duncan, the Overboss killing his friends and kidnapping Duncan, the Overboss sitting down to a pleasant dinner with them all and charming them into thinking he was a random traveler. There was no saying what the Overboss was doing right now, and the fact was that it didn’t matter because there was nothing MacCready could do to stop him. Even if he did escape his apartment-prison he would still have to find the Overboss, catch up to him, and either kill him or convince him to stop. There was nothing that MacCready could do that wasn’t essentially just throwing his life away. He felt like a coward, a failure as both a father and as a mercenary. 

It was just after sunset when the rattling sound of the elevator ascending filled the apartment. MacCready had sat down at the dining table with an issue of Grognak, trying to soothe his mind by reading the familiar story. He was picking at a bowl of mac-and-cheese as he read, though as soon as he heard the sound of the lift both the book and dinner were immediately forgotten.

MacCready shot up out of his chair, forcing himself to walk slowly to where the lift was. It occurred to him that it wasn’t necessarily the Overboss - it could be one of the raider guards here to razz him or give him some sort of update. The note had said it would be around three days, and it had only been two by MacCready’s count. He peered over the edge of the elevator shaft to confirm - a head of shiny black hair was on its way up.

MacCready stepped back, heart thudding in his chest. He leaned against the bar, wanting to stand for the confrontation but feeling like his legs would give out any second. He watched as the Overboss’ small, eloquent frame appeared from the hole in the floor, like a dragon emerging from his cave in an absurd, gruesome fairytale. The Overboss stepped off the elevator, smiling warmly as he spotted MacCready. He opened his arms, as if he planned on greeting MacCready like a spouse coming home from war. MacCready sidestepped him.

“Where were you?” MacCready asked, steeling his voice. He was shaking, but he wouldn’t show weakness. He kept his brows furrowed and his face firm. The Overboss’ smile dropped just a fraction alongside his arms.

“Did you miss me that much?” The Overboss said coyly. It sounded like he was going to say more but MacCready cut him off.

“Answer the question!” MacCready snapped. “Where. Did you.  _ Go? _ ” 

“I was off on business,” The Overboss said cryptically, putting his arms behind his back. “And I brought you a little something. A gift for your son.”

MacCready’s eyes widened as horror gapped in his middle. “What did you do?” He asked, voice wavering despite his best efforts. “Where’s Duncan?” At that, the psychopath's smile fell entirely and his brow furrowed, confused. 

“I would think he’s back where you left him,” The Overboss said. “Aren’t you going to ask what the gift is?” 

Something in him broke. MacCready only realized what he was doing long after it was done. His hands gripped the front of the Overboss’ shirt, pulling the man to his face by the fancy collar of his jacket. MacCready’s teeth were grit so hard he swore he’d chip a tooth and his breath came out wildly like a rabid dog. 

“I’m not playing your  _ stupid games _ ,” MacCready snapped. “Tell me what you did with my son??” 

The Overboss, for once, seemed genuinely at a loss for words, and more than a little confused. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again with a short laugh. His head was cocked to the side, eyes almost crossed to look at MacCready whose nose was barely an inch from his.

“I haven’t done a thing to him,” The Overboss said, tone matching his expression. “Your son is in the Capital, right? The trip would take at least three or four days. There's no way I could have gotten there and back so quickly.” 

Oh. That… was actually a very good point. Somehow, over the last two days, MacCready hadn’t even considered the time it would take to get to where his son was. He had just assumed that if the Overboss wanted to make the trip in three days, he could - everything else about him was stupidly impossible - what's a little teleporting for a literal immortal? 

His grip on the man’s coat relaxed and the Overboss gently stepped away from the hold. He seemed amused, which was better than furious. MacCready could only barely get his mind to work enough to count himself lucky. “Why on earth would you think I would want to find your son?” 

“I…” MacCready couldn’t finish that sentence even if he wanted to. He stepped back and took a seat at one of the bar chairs, certain if he stood for any longer he would end up collapsed on the floor. His trembling fingers went up to brush at his hair, tapping against the underside of his hat. The Overboss waited politely for several seconds before chuckling. 

“It’s alright,” he said pacing to a chair across the room. “In truth, your son  _ was  _ the cause for my sudden outing, but it was nothing nefarious, I promise.”

MacCready's hand lowered to his temple, base of his palm resting against the indent there. Ignoring the fact that he didn’t know what ‘nefarious’ meant, he found it in him to ask his question. “So… what _were_ you doing, then?” 

The Overboss smiled triumphantly. He reached into his coat pocket and produced something that, at first glance, looked like a really fat red pen. 

“What is that?” MacCready asked, not particularly impressed. The Overboss looked at him expectantly, and MacCready stifled a sigh as he slid off the barstool and walked over to inspect the item. It was a syringe, of some kind. A fancy one too - the kind that they had before the war that you would barely feel when it auto injected. A label on the side proudly named the drug  _ Prevent _ . MacCready frowned. He’d seen a lot of chems in his days, but he’d never heard of anything like that. Why would the Overboss be looking for this thing? And what does it have to do with Duncan?

MacCready’s eyes snapped wide when he figured it out. 

_ “You came all this way looking for a cure for your son?” The Overboss asked him as he injected the stimpack into MacCready’s exposed thigh. The cut on his temple itched as new skin regrew to cover the scrape. MacCready relaxed into the couch; his arm had long since given out from holding the cold bottle to his skull. “Why couldn’t you start your search closer to home? I take it you had a lead.” _

_ MacCready nodded sluggishly, head pulsing with drugs in his system and the minor concussion that had made him forget he was high. “Sinclair.” He mumbled.  _

_ “Who is that, love?” The Overboss asked, sitting at his side. MacCready hummed. _

_ “Told me about a place. Has a cure for the stuff Duncan has, maybe,” MacCready’s world was spinning. He closed his eyes. He wanted to sleep. _

_ “Stay awake, darling,” The Overboss tapped his arm and MacCready forced his eyes open again. “Good man. Now, tell me about this place.” _

_ “Place?” _

_ “Where the cure is located,” The Overboss said. "The one for your son's illness?"  _

_ “Old world research place. Med-Tek,” MacCready said. “Can’t get in tho - the place is overrun by ferals. I gotta get the equipment to get in there, maybe a team…” _

_ The Overboss smiled, fingers stroking MacCready’s hair gently. “You’re a brave man, thinking of taking on all that just for your son.” _

_ MacCready shrugged. “ ‘M not brave. I can’t get in. Can’t save him. I’m weak and scared and too stupid to get in.” _

_ “Shhh, none of that,” The Overboss kissed MacCready’s cheek. “You are a good person, MacCready. Don’t worry yourself. I promise, everything will be alright.”  _

“that's…” MacCready looked at the syringe, suddenly too afraid to touch it, as if it were made of crystal or glass and would shatter at the slightest jostle. The Overboss smiled.

“Med-Tek's cure,” he confirmed. “It took some digging through their file system to figure out which one it was, but I’m certain that this is chem you have been searching for.”

MacCready starred, having nothing else he could say or do. It was almost a relief when the Overboss returned the vial to his pocket, breaking its spell over MacCready. He looked up to meet the gaze of his crazed, raider captor. The Overboss was smiling - gentle, caring. MacCready was certain he didn't look half as serene. 

“I… I don’t-” MacCready laughed, surprising even himself with the manic, desperate sound. Was he crying? No, not yet, but he might soon. The Overboss watched him patiently, and MacCready swallowed. “I- p-please, Overboss, sir,” He realized again that he didn’t remember the man’s first name. It made his groveling all that more pathetic. “Please, you- you have to give that to Duncan. I’ll- do anything. Anything y-you want. Please.”

The Overboss’ soft gaze turned pitying, and MacCready swallowed hard in his effort not to look away. He was shaking, and for just a moment he thought about sinking to his knees and putting his caps where his mouth was, or more accurately the other man's cock. Anything - anything in the world to make sure Ducan got what was in that vial. 

“MacCready,” The Overboss said, almost chidingly, “I’m not going to withhold the medicine from you or Duncan. I was only hoping to surprise you before I sent it off with the next caravan headed south. You don’t have to worry, your child will be safe.”

MacCready blinked. There were tears in his eyes that were moments away from sliding down his face - but he couldn't break just yet. Not until he knew for sure that this was real. “Why?” He asked, unable to let this gift horse into the stable just yet. “Why are you doing this?” 

“Because this is what you want, isn’t it?” The Overboss said as though it were obvious. “You came here to get a cure for your son, and now that cure is gotten, so there’s no more reason for you to worry.” The Overboss rose up from the chair and stroked MacCready’s cheek with the knuckle of his index finger. The merc shuddered openly and shut his eyes against what he knew was coming next. Warm lips pressed against his in a tender kiss that left MacCready feeling hollow inside. When the Overboss pulled back he wiped a shameful tear from MacCready’s cheek. “There, now, sweetheart,” He said, cupping the side of MacCready’s head. “I told you I take care of what’s mine. I hated seeing you miserable like you were.”

MacCready looked at the dark blue eyes staring into his, searching for malice and deceit but only finding adoration. The Overboss was being sincere, or at least putting on one heck of a performance. The demented man really did seem to believe what he was saying. MacCready’s jaw twitched and he contemplated his next move. A thought burrowed into his dumb brain - a gamble, really. One that he would have to stake his life on, maybe even his son's. A decent man wouldn't have taken it, a smart man wouldn't have even thought it, but MacCready was so, _so_ goddamn exhausted. The tension in him had snapped, and with it, gone was his better judgment. 

“You really want me to be happy?” MacCready asked, trying to keep his tone as neutral as possible. The Overboss nodded, and MacCready sucked in a breath to prepare himself. “Then let me leave.” He said, regretting his decision as soon as he made it. He shut his eyes as he spoke, unable to look at the Overboss while he made his request. “Please. _Please_ , just let me go. I wanna go home and be with my kid.”

Silence. MacCready’s heartbeat in his throat. After several seconds he dared to open his eyes. The Overboss was still looking at him, just as he had been before, only now the gentle, soothing presence in his face was replaced with a condescending sharpness. MacCready felt ice in his heart and his trembling spread from his arms to his entire body.

“Now that wasn’t very nice, hm?” The Overboss said. MacCready scrambled to apologize, backing away as the Overboss approached him, but a hand caught his jaw in a vice grip. Pain blossomed in his teeth and trickled down his neck. MacCready's eyes squeezed shut again, this time in pure terror as he felt the Overboss’ breath tickle his neck. “I go all the way to Med-Tek, exterminate an entire building’s worth of ghouls, waste ten good mini-nukes blowing up that security door - all of this to save  _ your  _ son \- and here you are being ungrateful.”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry,” MacCready said through his held jaw. “I’m sorry boss, I’m sorry.” Somehow, even facing the potentially lethal consequences for his actions, MacCready couldn't find it in him to be truly afraid. He shook, his heart raced, but his mind had built up a tolerance to mortal terror. All he could feel was intense anxiety clawing at him as he waited for the Overboss' verdict on how to deal with him. 

For once, it seemed whatever sick god was out there decided to cut him a break. 

“That’s alright, precious,” The Overboss spoke, letting up some of the pressure on MacCready’s jaw. He could feel the blood rush back in through the veins that had been cinched under the tight grasp. “You seem like you've been a bit out of it. Have you even been eating properly? You must have just had a little lapse in judgment. I understand, just don’t forget again, okay?”

MacCready nodded as best he could, biting back the last of his pride as he did so. It wasn’t just his life he was playing with here - it never was, really. If he played along as this man’s good little pet, then Duncan will get his cure, and maybe the kid could live a normal life. Not every boy needed a father - MacCready was proof of that. And if he didn’t play along this monster would kill his son; even if the threat hadn't been directly made, there wasn’t a doubt in MacCready’s mind that was what would happen. 

So MacCready forced himself to relax as the Overboss pressed their mouths together again. He let the man probe the hollows of his cheeks with his tongue, reminding himself over and over that this was his new normal, he could deal with this. Because Duncan was safe, would continue to be safe, if only MacCready could make this feel good. Because if he managed to keep his owner busy letting the Overboss fuck him on whichever poorly-maintained mattress was around, then maybe MacCready would get to live a few more weeks. Because there was no way out of this but one, and despite everything, MacCready wasn't ready to die yet.

“You know, precious,” The Overboss said, breaking their kiss with a pant. “I think I know _exactly_ how you can make this up to me.”

“Anything you want, boss,” MacCready said, eyes still pointed down. “I’m all yours.”

He could  _ feel _ the Overboss’ smile in the air. “That’s what I like to hear,” He said, putting a finger under MacCready’s chin and guiding it up so their eyes met. “Now, say that again.”

“I’m yours,” MacCready said without energy, adding on a quick, “boss,” at the end. The Overboss’ eyes lit with passion and arousal at the words.

“That’s right,” He said, claiming MacCready’s mouth again. He broke their passionate kiss to look MacCready in the eyes. “You belong to  _ me _ , MacCready. You’re mine to use, mine to break. You’ll do everything I ask without question, and if you don’t I will make your life a living hell.”

“I know,” MacCready said, bracing himself for another kiss. This time the Overboss guided them back so that they ended up on the filthy mattress in the corner of the terrasse, MacCready pinned under the Overboss. When they finally broke, the Overboss was staring at MacCready with pupils that took up most of his irises, as if MacCready were a drug that he could overdose on. 

“I love you, MacCready,” He said, panting. “So, so much.”

“I know,” MacCready said, putting up no resistance as the man’s slender hands trailed under his shirt and groped at his chest. MacCready sighed softly, resigned and focusing in on the specific feelings to force a bit of pleasure into this for himself as well. 

“Do you know what I want, MacCready?” The Overboss asked.

“I can take a guess,” MacCready mumbled. There was one particular thing the Overboss had been asking for from him over and over, the very last thing MacCready had withheld from this man. It was something even Lucy hadn't managed to get him to agree to, try as she did. Being penetrated scared the hell out of him, no matter how good it might feel. It would leave him vulnerable, too vulnerable to even be fun, and MacCready had heard plenty of horror stories about just how much damage could be done using that particular entrance. Damaged organs, internal bleeding, infection - it all just felt like too much of a risk for a little fun. 

“And are you going to give it to me, then?” The Overboss asked, fingers brushing over MacCready’s nipples. He shivered at the touch and closed his eyes. He felt tears falling again, but managed to keep from sobbing, unsure of how the Overboss would react. He let the man kiss the place where the tears had fallen, wiping them away with his lips. “I promise it won’t be so bad,” He said, “It won’t hurt nearly as much as you think it will.”

That did little to soothe MacCready. Pain was not the worst part of what was happening - MacCready could handle pain. In fact, he would welcome something that hurt if it would help distract him from everything in the world right now. Another kiss to MacCready’s lips, and the Overboss spoke again.

“Well?” He prompted with a hint of impatience behind the words. “Answer the question.”

The last of his resistance died on his tongue and the tension left his body in a sad, deflated motion. “Yes, boss,” MacCready said, letting his eyes fall shut. "Whatever you want." 

"Good," The word was predatory, spoken by a truly evil creature. MacCready could hear the toothy, lustful smile in his tones. "Let's get started then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, the more I read back this fic, the more I realize just how out of character MacCready acts and how bizarre the premise is. Whoops. One day I'll write a MacCready who has more snark and backbone. Maybe.
> 
> PS. I keep an eye on the kudos on all my fics, and I cannot tell you how much delight I get seeing authors who I ADORE are also reading my fic! It's like we're one big, fucked up, happy family <3


	11. *Acquiescence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I present!!! Sex!!! :D 
> 
> Side note: [I made a tumblr!](https://detectiveidiotboy.tumblr.com/) I haven't been on that site in over 2 years, so I'm mostly just reblogging things and popping up one or two notifications about my writes, but I especially want to talk to people in fandom, so if you are interested, say hi! I'm to shy to start conversations myself lol. 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy the chapter, bastards! >:3c
> 
> _(See end notes for content warnings)_

MacCready couldn’t help but be relieved that he wasn’t going to be tied up for his first time. He was only barely managing to stave off panic as it were with a handful of practiced deep breaths while he waited for the Overboss to return. 

_ “Where are you going?”  _ He’d asked when the Overboss suddenly rolled off him right in the middle of a passionate kiss that left MacCready lightheaded and breathless.

_ “I need to get something,” _ The Overboss said, running his fingers playfully through the half-dressed merc’s hair.  _ “I’ll be right back _ .” 

One promise that 'it wasn’t going to be ropes or anything else unpleasant' later, and MacCready was left in a state of confusing anticipation. He was still terrified, but mostly he wanted his partner to hurry up so they could get this over with. The worst part about knowing he was about to do something unpleasant was  _ waiting _ to do something unpleasant.

Although, maybe MacCready was jumping to conclusions. After all, plenty of people do this for fun, at least, according to the handful of dirty magazines he’d managed to get his hands on as a kid and first-hand accounts from Lucy. Again, he had no idea how she knew so much about fucking since she hadn’t ever left her prudish small town until they kicked her out for getting knocked up. Just one thing he’d never know now - they both had their secrets they never got to share in the end. 

With his thoughts once again pulled to his late wife, MacCready felt worse than ever. Thankfully, before he managed to drown himself in his own despair the Overboss returned from the inner apartment carrying something too small for MacCready to clearly make out from on the bed. It looked like a bottle of gun oil and a canister of Jet to him; what on earth would the Overboss need with those? 

“Sorry to keep you waiting, sweetheart,” the Overboss said, sliding back on top of the covers seductively. “You just seemed so nervous, I figured we probably shouldn’t do this without some preparation.”

“Huh?” MacCready said, too nervous (and, admittedly, turned on) for proper questions. The Overboss smiled at the flustered little man still tangled up in the covers as he passed along the canister of Jet.

“Here, take this,” He said. “It will help you relax.” 

“I thought Jet riled you up?” He said, taking the small canister in his fingers. It wasn’t his first time taking this particular chem, but it would be the first time he done it with sex. 

“Not that kind of relaxing, sweetheart,” The Overboss said, humor touching his voice. MacCready felt his face heat up when he figured out what he meant. He recalled the way his muscles stayed loose and limber for hours after the chem had worn off - he also remembered the ‘bathroom issues’ that affect sometimes cause. MacCready swallowed. It was a good thing he hadn’t eaten much over the past two days. 

MacCready fitted his teeth over the top of the inhaler and pulled in a shaky breath. It tasted terrible, like a mix between cough syrup and literal shit. Which made sense, considering what Jet was. After finding out how the chem was really made by watching a man in his first caravan mixing a dose, MacCready swore to never put that stuff in his body again. Desperate times, desperate measures - it wasn’t like he had much of a choice anyhow. 

The high was immediate; the cold, liquid-like air wafted into his brain to turn colors brighter and his thoughts into twitchy, manic static. His arm lost all tension and fell to his side, empty canister abandoned as he rode through the high. His heart felt like a timebomb and his ribs felt like jello. Thankfully, the Overboss kept his hands off him while MacCready’s senses were heightened. If he felt someone touch him like this he might just scream. Thankfully, Jet was a fleeting high, and after less than a minute MacCready came back to his senses, though with a lot less strength in his muscles than before. 

“You look so cute like that, you know,” The Overboss said, staring at MacCready with adoration shining in his eyes. He had taken the cap off of the bottle he was carrying and was gently applying the liquid inside to a pair of fingers. “I should give you chems more often. Now roll over.” 

MacCready obeyed the command, sluggish flipping onto his stomach. He had lost his jacket and pants, but his long johns and teeshirt were still plastered to his frame and bunching up under him in uncomfortable knots. He struggled to keep his breathing even, cold spikes of dread shooting through him at odd intervals. The sound of plastic dully thunking on the nightstand beside him was accompanied shortly after by a gentle, dry hand sneaking up under his shirt and rubbing circles into his back. 

“It’s alright,” The Overboss soothed. “This is gonna be fun, I promise.” 

MacCready clenched his jaw and buried his face into the covers, still trembling. He felt the fingers glide down the small of his back and into the elastic of his waistband. The last layer of protection he had between him and the Overboss was teased away. MacCready felt a palm kneed at the flesh there, sizing him up like a cut of meat. He shuddered and whined as a pair of thumbs pulled him apart and exposed him entirely for the Overboss’ viewing pleasure. 

“That’s it,” The Overboss’ heavy, lustful voice came from behind him. MacCready bit down on the sheets in preparation for what was coming, but was surprised to find a thin wet finger gently pricked inside his opening rather than being thrust through with something much larger. The intrusion burned, but not terribly. The slickness there helped, and MacCready soon felt himself opening up - both literally and figuratively. 

It was the second time the Overboss had fingered him, the only other time having been when he’d sent MacCready into a panic that first night. It felt strange, but not unpleasant, and far from painful. The wetness surrounding the appendage inside him made its movements smooth and clean. Without realizing it, MacCready relaxed,. He let his body be explored; he could do this, this he could handle. 

MacCready choked on a surprised moan when two more fingers found their way inside him. “Hugk-” He was tense again, as much as he could be, at least, trembling and squirming as the fingers opened him up with a slow back-and-forth that served to coat his insides with a trail of viscous liquids. Painful wasn’t the word to describe it - but  _ full _ definitely was. 

“You gotta  _ relax, _ MacCready,” The Overboss said, elongating the words of his command. “If you resist it’s just going to hurt more than it has to.”

“Does it have to hurt at all?” MacCready whined. 

“All the best things In life do, at least a little,” The Overboss purred. MacCready could feel his stomach turn when a kiss was pressed to the back of his neck. “I’ll try to be gentle,” Came the whisper in his ear. 

The fingers inside him flexed and this time there  was pain as he was spread open. MacCready’s mouth hung open for a fraction of a second before snapping shut. His teeth grit - it burned, but he could handle this. It was far from the worst pain he’d ever been in, he’d live. He was beginning to wonder why anyone would want to do this when those smooth fingers brushed up against something _ good _ .

“Ah-” MacCready gasped. A shiver caught at the back of his neck and settled in his stomach, and suddenly he was as hard as if they’ve been at this for hours. What on earth was that? He knew just enough ‘human anatomy’ to know that there was  _ something  _ there, but he never imagined touching something that wasn't his own dick could feel that good. He realized he’d felt this feeling before - when the Overboss has stuck fingers in his ass during their first coupling. He thought it had been a fluke, a combination of fear and arousal and helplessness. Now it was very clear that the Overboss’s movements were practiced and precise. Credit where credit was due - the man always seemed to know what he was doing, no matter what it was.

“I thought you might come around,” The Overboss chuckled, “pun intended.” his fingers so that he could press into MacCready’s prostate firmly. He moaned, face hot and buried into the covers as his fingers pulled at the sheets. 

MacCready’s legs tensed, increasing the pressure around the fingers inside him. Pain radiated from his stretched walls where he clenched down but it melded so perfectly together with the new sensation tingling through his body that he hardly cared. He was hard, his eyes were crossed, and they hadn’t even truly begun.

The sensations reached their crescendo and came back down on him like the snapping of a rubber band. His back arched, his body spasmed, and MacCready was certain that he was cumming over the ruffled sheets. To his absolute astonishment, his dick remained dry and stiff, even as the last ripples of pleasure left his body. MacCready’s heart was working double time, and he gasped just to get enough air. 

He could hear the pleased, aroused laughs of the Overboss as he finally let go of the sheets. “Good?” 

“Y-yeah,” MacCready said. “I… I think I came.” 

“You did,” The Overboss confirmed, fingers sliding out from him. The sensation sent shivers down his spine and left him feeling hollow. “In my experience, it doesn't take long to come again in this state, don’t worry. Soon I’ll have you wrapped around my cock and coming over and over like the bitch you are.” The very last thing MacCready expected was to want something back inside him after it was removed - and yet his body was ready to go again, just like the man had said. Worries of pain and injury still fluttered in the back of his mind, but it was well within his tolerance level, and only served to make his head lighter and his cock harder. 

MacCready was flipped over by a pair of very capable hands so that he could watch as the Overboss undid his belt and slid out of his trousers. Much to his surprise, the Overboss then went on to remove his shirt, pulling the article off over his head. He could count on a single hand the amount of times the man had bothered to get out of his whole outfit to fuck him.  The display was, unfortunately, very attractive. MacCready couldn’t help that; the Overboss was just the right mix of muscle and fat and smooth skin that made men appeal to him. He kept his eyes on the other man’s chest as his legs were spread apart; everything he had was on display, and he could feel the other man’s eyes on him. It left MacCready feeling strangely exposed being left in his shirt while the other man stripped, like he was doing something wrong. 

“I’m going to breed you like a brahmin,” The Overboss said in a breathy, lustful whisper. 

“Not… not sure if that’s possible, boss,” MacCready managed through the haze of his arousal, “unless I got my biology all kinds of mixed up.” MacCready watched as the Overboss took the bottle of what he now realized must be lubricant and used it to coat and stroke himself in shuddery motions. 

“Shut up and let me fuck you,” The Overboss said through a moan, lining himself up with MacCready’s loosened hole. Despite the prep, MacCready closed his eyes. The Overboss’ cock was a bit bigger than three fingers curled together, and probably warmer. If it had burned with something as small as an index, MacCready knew he had to brace himself for this. 

The first press was slow, and MacCready once again found himself experiencing the burn of insertion. He stretched, and his inner walls flexed painfully around the intrusion. It was almost too much; pain began to tip the scales in his head and his mouth opened in a silent plea. 

“Just relax - It will feel good in a minute,” The Overboss said, fingers grabbing at MacCready’s thighs to guide him down along his dick. MacCready’s fingers clawed at the sheets again, though this time in grit as he forced himself through the splitting sensation in him. He wasn’t at the point of panic, yet, but with each centimeter of himself he lost to the burning, aching sensation of being speared through he drew closer to that edge. 

The Overboss stopped before he was more than halfway sheathed. MacCready was given less than a second to adjust before the Overboss shifted the angle of his cock and _thrusted_. The movement was precise, and MacCready thought his lungs would pop with the sudden draw of air he took out of time. The pleasurable coiling sensation was back, and as clouds of orgasm began to collect in his horizon. MacCready sighed. His eyes fluttered shut as the Overboss fit himself entirely inside his hole, the pressure against his prostate not letting up even once. MacCready’s breath hitched as he took in the sensations - the burn, the strain, the feeling of pleasure radiating out from every pore of his body.

The Overboss pulled back slowing, creating a feeling of suction inside of him as a vacuum formed around where had just a second ago had been cock. MacCready shuddered, but there wasn’t any tension left in his frame. Partly the after-effects of Jet, partly his natural response to the stimulation he was undergoing. Then, without warning, The Overboss moaned and thrust into him.

“Ahhng,” MacCready’s back left the bed as his ass followed the movement of the Overboss’ hips. His toes curled, and a second later he felt that same wave of pressure reach his brain. He sighed, heart in his throat, as he twitched his hips to chase the feeling. He managed to find where his prostate met the cock in his as and rubbed into it. 

“Oh that’s good,” The Overboss signed, sweat dripping down his face as he braced himself against the bed with his arms at either side of MacCready’s waist. “Fuck you look good like that,” The Overboss murmured. “I knew a little slut like you could take it - you take cock like a man, MacCready.” 

The Overboss’ hips jerked, chasing his own high in their euphoric mingling of bodies. MacCready could feel the place where his skin met the Overboss’, and suddenly there was an awareness in him of the intimacy of the act he was performing. This was  _ sex _ , true, genuine sex. Before, MacCready had acted as little more than a cock-sleeve for the Overboss; an object to be pressed up against or rubbed on or fucked  _ with _ . More often than not the Overboss got MacCready off right alongside himself, but that was too was for his own benefit. This here - MacCready’s whole body wrapped around him and responding to the pleasure of his partner, the reciprocating movements, the sweat from his ass painting the Overboss’ crotch - this was  _ sex _ .

And MacCready was enjoying it. He _loved_ it. 

He was momentarily stunned (though not silently, as he kept up his small chorus of moans and “oh”s as the Overboss began to take up a steady pace) and found himself able to do little more than observe what was happening. He felt good, he felt amazing, he was hurting, he felt scared, he felt full, he felt burning, he felt a current of pleasure knock him off his metaphorical feet like a strike of lightning. 

His toes curled and his cock leaked. The Overboss’ pace had taken up a new, far more desperate stride. He reached down and grabbed MacCready’s legs, repositioning them so that they wrapped around his back and gave him better access to MacCready’s ass. MacCready’s dick was soaked in his own cum now, and he felt his next orgasm send him over the edge. His asshole spasmed, clenching down on the dick inside of it. He cried out and wrapped his arms around the sweaty back of his partner. It was not a quick or quiet affair - he came for almost two full minutes, balls emptying over his stomach and wetting both of them. Tears fell from his eyes and didn’t stop, not even as the pleasure abated and he was left with the rough feeling of something just too big filling his hole. 

Sometime while he was in the throes of orgasm the Overboss came as well, filling his ass with cum and leaving a mess of the sheets beneath them. The wet, sloppy sound of the Overboss chasing the tail of his orgasm filled MacCready’s ears as the dread and horror of what had just happened set in for him. Euphoria and dysphoria fought for dominance in his head; He was crying still, brain too fried to tell what it was feeling. 

The Overboss finally stilled over his body as MacCready’s arms fell to his sides. He rested his mouth just above MacCready’s collar bone, panting short, hot breaths on MacCreadys’ shoulder. MacCready closed his eyes, depression finally setting in deep. Just like his orgasm, it came in slow and steady waves, but unlike pleasure, misery doesn’t fade, it only becomes stronger. MacCready felt tears mingle with his sweat as he coughed out a series of short sobs at the back of his throat. 

The Overboss captured his sobbing lips in a kiss, dick still planted firmly inside of MacCready’s body. Without the euphoria and ecstasy surrounding them, the feeling of the soft, fleshy organ inside MacCready felt  _ disgusting _ . Cum leaked out of him around it, and no amount of water was going to wash away the dripping feeling, he was sure of it. 

MacCready sat through the kiss, sniffling occasionally, and when it was over he finally was free of the Overboss’ weight pressing down on him. The Overboss pulled out; without the plug of his cock MacCready’s asshole overflowed with cum, pouring out onto the sheets. “Fuck, that’s sexy,” The Overboss muttered, already cleaning himself up with the corner of the sheets. 

MacCready didn’t move, body staying exactly where he was left, as he sobbed and stared at the ceiling. He wanted to be dead - he wanted to die  _ so bad;  _ it wasn’t even a tangible thought anymore, but a piece of his very being that yearned to cease. The place where his soul should be was empty, and there was no hope of ever getting it back. 

“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” The Overboss said. He rested his hip on the side of the bed nearest MacCready’s head in a half-sit and reached over to play with the merc’s damp hair. “You had a good time, you can’t tell me you didn’t - the evidence is all over the bed.” He teased. 

MacCready swallowed, eyes still fixed up and ahead. “Yeah,” He said, not even bothering to assign a value of truth to the words he spoke. “It was good.” 

The Overboss laughed. His hand lingered on MacCready’s forehead and as much as loathed the man, the motion was a comfort. He leaned into the touch, and without thinking he wrapped his hands around the man’s arm. The Overboss seemed surprised, then curious, as he followed MacCready’s tug until the two of them were tangled up on the bed again, this time with MacCready chasing  _ his  _ desires - and his desire was to get his first good night sleep in two days.

The Overboss followed along, allowing MacCready to wrap himself around the other’s arm and bury his face in his chest. The gaping feeling in MacCready's chest only widened, but the presence of someone -  _ anyone _ \- made it tolerable. He could rest like this. 

“Love,” The Overboss said after a moment, gently brushing MacCready’s bangs as they stuck to his forehead. “I’m not staying in this filthy bed all night - let’s move inside.” 

MacCready shook his head, unable to form words. He felt like a child, something he didn’t even realize he knew  _ how _ to feel. His hands followed the arm of the Overboss as it was slowly taken from him, and he watched with pleading eyes as the man pulled away from him. He was left with arms just barely outstretched begging to be followed. The Overboss looked at him piteously, lamenting the state he put MacCready in with a smile and gentle laugher. 

“Come find me in the bedroom if you want to cuddle,” He said, already walking off. MacCready watched him leave. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise - it didn’t, but it still hurt to be alone. He heard the door to the apartment proper open and shut and MacCready was left to himself on the terrace where he’d been trapped for so long, sobbing as he lay soaked in his own fluids. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Warnings:** _Drug use, dub-con, anal sex, painful sex, crying, depression_
> 
> I maaaay have taken the liberty of the effects of Jet to make it act more like poppers :3c


	12. On his knees but never praying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, I am a little proud of that chapter title... 
> 
> This chapter is the first plot-relevant chapter with a sex scene in it - it is also the first one where there is something close to resembling consent, so check the endnotes for content warnings if you want a heads up. The sex is still skippable, mostly.

MacCready remembered the color of Lucy’s hair. It was the very first thing he noticed about her when he found her in that bar, snuck off from her commune for a night of debauchery and hedonism. It was the same color as a sunset and spiraled down her back in springy curls. She had blue eyes with specs of green, and little brown freckles on her nose. She liked to wear white skirts, but it was too hard to keep them clean, so they ended up with faded yellow grass stains and a splotch of red from where she’d gotten blood on it after slaughtering a brahmin. Her favorite scarf was one given to her by her mother, back when the woman was alive, a dark violet thing with black thread embroideries. She had been wearing it when she died. 

MacCready could never forget Lucy in all her many colors, even if there was nothing else left in the world as chromatic as she was. Duncan inherited MacCready’s ugly dirty blond hair, but his eyes had started to fade into that pretty sea-green of his mothers. After Lucy, Duncan became the source of all MacCready’s joy for a while. It was unfair to burden a toddler with the responsibility of his happiness, but every time MacCready felt as if the world was dark he would see Duncan smile at him with pink lips and white teeth, and he knew that he would be okay. 

MacCready saw gray the morning after the Overboss came back. His vision was perfectly fine, to be clear - he hardly even noticed the change at the time. He slid out of bed as he normally did, gathered up his clothes from wherever they had been discarded and walked over to the stove. The Overboss came up behind him, laid a kiss on his neck, and told him he would be back in the evening. He had some business to take care of since he had left, after which he would send the cure off to Duncan. 

“Am I allowed to leave the apartment?” MacCready asked.

“Of course,” The Overboss said. “Why wouldn’t you be?” 

“When you left there were raiders keeping me here. Said you told them not to let me leave,” MacCready found a box of sugary cereal and poured himself a bowl out of habit. He picked up a spoon of flakes and ate. The sugar dissolved on his tongue without taste. 

The Overboss seemed irritated. “I told those two to keep you  _ safe _ while I was gone, not lock you in your room.” He griped. “I’m sorry about that. No wonder you were so cross when I came back.”

MacCready shrugged, sitting down with his bowl. What was one more layer of caging? He was already in hell. 

“Yes, you are allowed to leave,” The Overboss said as he was on his way out. “Take care and be back by sundown. I want to treat you tonight.” 

MacCready noted in his head to be ready for more surprises, and to ask if he was being drugged if the Overboss made any more drinks. He ate mechanically, only finishing half his bowl before putting the box away and heading for the lift. His rifle was leaned up against a pillar, and  _ Deliverer _ was resting on the ground next to it. MacCready pocketed the pistol, debated for a second, then took the rifle onto his shoulder. It was a comfort, and it made him look a lot more intimidating. 

MacCready walked through the town for the first time since he went on lockdown. Two days wasn’t a lot of time, but MacCready felt like he’d lived a lifetime in that time. Raiders jeered at him as he walked down the street; apparently, there had been a rumor that he had died, either killed by the Overboss or committed suicide. He wondered if someone had overheard his conversation with Mackenzie or if the timing was a coincidence. His marketplace friend was ecstatic to see him, leaping from her station to hug MacCready as soon as she saw him, much to the displeasure of the raider overseers. 

“I was worried about you,” She said as she walked back to her stand by the order of one of the guards. MacCready shrugged, unable to match her enthusiasm. She looked at him, eyes knowing and smile fading. “You look awful,” She said. “Come in back, let me take a look at you.” 

MacCready let her guide him in back under the pretense of a check-up. Or at least, he thought it was a pretense - MacCready must have actually looked sick, because she took his temperature and made him sit still while she pressed a syringe of antibiotics into his arm “as a precaution.”

“I swear you’ve lost weight,” she said quietly, likely to herself, “and you’re so pale…”

“You really know how to make a guy feel special, Kenz,” MacCready said. The words were flat, but the joke was good and Mackenzie laughed. 

“I’m a doctor, it’s my job to notice these things,” She said, still flitting about him like a mother bird. “Now, are you going to tell me what happened or am I going to have to pester it out of you?” 

It was likely meant as a joke, but MacCready didn’t have the energy to put up any resistance. There wasn’t any point to keeping the truth from her - there wasn’t anything left to tell her that belonged to him and him alone. Everything he was and had was now the property of someone else, there wasn't anything left of MacCready as an individual; however, telling someone who wasn't the Overboss would spoil the man's power trip of being the sole owner of MacCready’s story. 

So MacCready told her about his son, about Duncan's illness, and the cure that the Overboss had found. He told her about being drugged and how the Overboss had left him the next day to go looking for the cure while accidentally locking him in their apartment with armed guards. He even briefly mentioned Lucy, giving him his only excuse to smile when he was recounting the way she used to bounce Duncan on her knee and call him her little stingwing. Mackenzie listened, asking questions occasionally and covering her mouth in horrified shock when he said something that disturbed her. 

“MacCready…” She said when he finished. “God… I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged, appreciating the sentiment and trying to show it as best he could. “It’s whatever now,” he said. “Duncan gets his cure, the Overboss promised to leave him alone, and I stay here until I die. That’s it.”

Mackenzie looked as though she wanted to hug him, but restrained herself. He was thankful for that. He didn’t want to be touched by anyone right now, maybe he never would again. She shook her head at him, in spite of her restraint, and said. “That’s not it,” She told him. “You’re not dead yet.”

“I might as well be,” MacCready said. “The Overboss is gonna get bored with me soon, and it’s not like he’ll just let me go back home when he’s done.”

“He might,” Mackenzie offered, but MacCready shook his head. She frowned, unsure of what to say. 

“It’s okay,” MacCready said, forcing the smallest smile he could afford. It felt backwards for him to be comforting her, but he hated the way she was looking at him. “It’s over. He can't take anything else from me now - I don’t have anything left to lose. My son is going to be okay. That’s what matters now. Everything else is what it is.”

Mackenzie looked like she was going to cry, but she nodded. “I wish I could help,” She said, looking utterly devastated. MacCready understood. She was a doctor, after all - her job was to heal people when they were sick, set bones when they were broken, and when a patient was too sick to keep going, her job was to help ease their suffering and provide them with a dignified end. Mackenzie could only do so much though. MacCready remembered how she was forced to look on as the man in the tiger mask bled out in front of her, barred from saving his life by raiders who would kill her if she intervened. MacCready wondered how many times she’d been forced to violate her oath as a doctor here. 

“It’s fine,” MacCready said. “I appreciate you talking to me.” He gave her every cap that had been given to him by the Overboss for the day, which she tried to refuse. He ended up leaving with a stimpack and a tube of Addictol to treat the lingering grogginess of being drugged and the minor craving for cigarettes that had been re-awoken over his harrowing days of confinement. MacCready huffed the Addictol while he walked, ignoring the raiders who harassed him. He had nowhere to go, but he didn’t want to be in the apartment, so he ended up following the flow of the crowd around Nuka Town for a while. 

MacCready heard the sound of people cheering, and for a moment he wondered if some other poor sap had gotten themselves trapped in the gauntlet. There had been a handful of fights since he’d gotten here, though none who made it all the way to the Overboss round. MacCready had little interest in watching someone else go through that snuff chamber. He stopped walking when he realized the cheering he was hearing was not coming from the direction of the gauntlet. 

The wooden gates leading to the Pack's side of the park stood tall. MacCready had avoided going in there for the same reason he avoided all of the raider-only areas; while he wasn't a slave, MacCready also wasn't a raider, and he didn't want to end up as 'entertainment' for the raiders, or a snack for one of their dogs. The sounds of a crowd roared from behind the gate, and MacCready's curiosity piqued. He adjusted the strap on his rifle and checked the gun in his pocket before pressing open the massive wood doors and stepping inside. 

MacCready had been to animal fights before in his previous life. They were messy and distasteful, and he often tried to leave the bars that had them before they started. He didn’t get the appeal of watching two creatures in a cage go at it for blood sport - he would rather see two humans try to kill each other, if he had to choose. At least they might say or do something interesting. 

The wild mutt howled as its counterpart snagged at his neck. It raked unnaturally sharp claws against its opponent, catching the foaming beast in the eye. MacCready frowned, but for the first time in his life he found that he didn’t have the urge to look away. The crowd around him cheered as the dogs tore each other apart; MacCready didn’t take part in the enthusiasm. He watched the gore with dull eyes and a mild disinterest that only marginally beat his own boredom. It wasn’t wrong just to watch, right? There wasn’t anything MacCready could do to stop this from happening. 

Blood poured from the arena as a pair of raiders dragged the frenzied, victorious mutt dog from the ring. 

MacCready felt a large hand on his shoulder. He turned to see a man towering over him, face painted bright pink with splotches of green under his eyes. His hair was cropped into a messy, blue mohawk that was squished down under a mask-like helmet with three horns standing tall. The mask was shaped like no animal MacCready had ever seen, but it was clear that this man was part of the Pack.

“You don’t look like you belong around here,” He said in a deep, gravely voice. “There're only two kinds of animal in our neck of the woods - predators, and prey. And you don’t look like a predator to me.”

MacCready shrugged. It was all he could manage as a reply to such a bizarre statement. The man snarled, but rather than appearing aggressive, the man seemed to size MacCready up. 

“You’re no slave,” He muttered, eyes locked on MacCready’s neck, “And you ain’t no raider… how did you manage to get so lost, little pup?”

“I passed by some guy earlier who told me to ‘go to hell’, so I followed his directions and ended up here.” It was an old joke, one that MacCready had found hilarious as a kid but had worn out its welcome over the years. Still, it seemed to impress the raider, who chuckled and tightened his grip on MacCready’s shoulder in a friendly squeeze. 

“I guess you’ve come to the right place, then,” The man said, smiling wide. He guided MacCready through the crowd with a push on the shoulder. “Why don’t you come with me and I can give you a ‘personal tour’ of our little setup.”

MacCready wasn’t an idiot, despite the way he’d been feeling lately. He could see the implication lurking behind the man’s eyes, tone, and body language. Not to mention the fact that the tight shorts the man was wearing did little to hide his intentions. If MacCready wanted this to stop all he would have to do is tell this guy he was with the Overboss and the guy would let him go faster than a child touching a hot stove. After what happened to the last man who laid hands on the Overboss’ property, no raider dared come near him, especially not the raiders in the Pack.

MacCready kept his mouth shut and followed the Pack raider. The word 'no' never even came close to touching his lips.

They ended up in exactly the kind of place MacCready imagined they would - behind a shack next to a dumpster that contained more blood and gore than paper goods. The smell was absolutely awful, but MacCready had gotten used to the constant stench of death and decay in the park.

The blue-haired raider nudged MacCready to his knees, and he dropped obediently. There was a flutter in MacCready’s chest as he came back to himself for just a moment, and his cock pulsed in excitement. 

“You know,” MacCready said, licking his lips. “I like to get to know a guy a little before I blow them in a back alley; what’s your favorite color, where’d you grow up, your name…?”

“You are a mouthy little cocksucker, aren’t you?” The man said, fighting with his belt to get the tight strap of leather off his hips. “You’re lucky I like a fuck that makes some noise.” The man swore as his fat fingers struggled with the latch. His hands were shakey and couldn't seem to get a good grip around the leather. MacCready thought about helping him if only to end the pathetic display. 

MacCready’s knees were already starting to ache. He shifted his position a bit so that the gravel stuck to his knees could escape. By the time he was marginally more comfortable the man had gotten his pants down and was flaunting an erection that was well on its way to rock hard. MacCready hadn’t seen many adult penises in his life - mostly his own and the Overboss’, and that one gunner who he accidentally walked in on taking a leek - so his sample size was fairly small, but he judged the man’s cock to be  _ well _ above average size.

“Impressed?” The man gave MacCready an honest-to-god smirk, proud of his anatomy. MacCready took a breath, reminding himself that he had (sort of) agreed to this. 

“Honestly, I’m a bit surprised the carpet doesn’t match the drapes,” MacCready said in an attempt to hide his intimidation. The raider answered MacCready’s jab by reaching down to grasp his cock and slap MacCready across the cheek with it.

“Mouthy,” He criticized. “Let’s put that tongue to some use, yeah?”

MacCready forced himself to relax. Part of him was worried he was going to have to initiate things, but that fear was quickly disproven as knobby, masculine knuckles grabbed his hair and maneuvered MacCready’s face over to the swollen tip of the man’s cock. The flutters in MacCready’s chest moved south and before he realized it he was half-erect. MacCready opened his mouth and let his tongue lap across the tender flesh before getting his lips around the man’s girthy dick. MacCready put the taste out of his mind, but he couldn’t help but compare the cock in his mouth to the only other one that had been there. The Pack raider’s was saltier and tasted like dirt. If MacCready thought too much about how long it had been since the animal-man had bathed he might just gag.

MacCready cried out involuntarily when the man yanked a fistful of his hair to slide MacCready’s face over his dick. The cock was nearly at the back of MacCready’s tongue and it wasn’t even halfway in. MacCready whined and tried to pull back so he could adjust his stretched jaw, but a hand rested on the back of his head and held him in place. 

“Fucking...” The raider moaned, eyes closed. “Don’t move, don’t fucking move.” Was he really that close already? For the first time, MacCready noticed how young the man looked under the ridiculous face paint and mask. He was in his early twenties; at the very least he wasn’t older than MacCready. It occurred to MacCready that the other man would have probably had to have been desperate for him to pick out the weakest stranger in a crowd to proposition for sex. It was possible he had never done anything like this before, bluster aside. MacCready almost felt sorry for the guy. Almost. 

MacCready was forced to sit on stiff legs with his neck craned at an awkward angle, dick in his mouth while his partner got a hold of himself. MacCready focused on breathing through his nose and trying not to lose his own erection. If he was choosing to do this then he was going to enjoy himself, and MacCready refused to believe that what he was doing was anything other than a choice. 

Finally, the raider opened his eyes and looked back down at MacCready. There was an awkward moment of silent eye contact before the man regained composure and laughed. “Look at you… you have the most fuckable face I’ve ever seen.”

MacCready would have probably thanked the man for the unusual compliment if it weren’t for the fact that his partner had begun jerking his hips in a bid for friction against MacCready’s tongue. MacCready responded by sucking sloppily and reaching up to jerk the raider off as the man attempted to stuff more and more of his cock down MacCready’s throat. He had to remind himself to relax his throat as the dick poked at his uvula. MacCready gagged twice, the first after the dick had come out and the second time with the cock still fully embedded in his throat. The raider moaned loudly as the walls of MacCready’s throat convulsed around his cock. The sound shot right through MacCready as he sucked in air through his nose, making him hard against the soft folds of his boxers.

“Fuck... “ The raider moaned. “Do that again…”

MacCready was certain he didn’t want to gag again, but to be fair he was almost certain this was the raider’s first time and the man had no idea what he was asking MacCready to do. MacCready's desires didn’t matter, though, because the raider gripped the back of MacCready’s head and thrust his cock deep down the other man’s throat. MacCready gagged, then jerked when he realized he could no longer breathe through his nose - the man’s cock cutting off his airways. 

The pressure on the back of MacCready’s head let up and he pulled back, taking the dick out of his mouth to gasp for air. He coughed, saliva trailing down his jaw in a lude display. The man above him growled. 

“Did I say you could stop yet, slut?” He grabbed MacCready’s hair once again. 

“N-no, boss,” MacCready said before he could stop himself. The words had an immediate effect on the raider, and before he could say anything else MacCready found himself wrapped around the raider’s thick cock once again. 

This time MacCready was ready when the raider fully sheathed the length inside of his throat. He didn’t panic, closing his eyes as he felt the warmth of the man’s crotch against his face. He forced his throat to relax, swallowing several times to avoid the rancid feeling of sickness that came from the stimulation. MacCready’s head was pulled back along the length of the raider’s dick before the hand holding the back of his skull slammed him back down. He held his breath as his throat was fucked by the raider, waiting patiently between thrusts for a chance to sneak a breath through his nose. 

The raider made all kinds of primal noises as he rammed his dick into MacCready’s hole. It covered up the sounds of a chanting crowd and two animals battling to the death. MacCready was certain that anyone nearby would be able to hear them between the raider’s moans and the wet  _ smacks _ of his lips riding the raider’s cock. He doubted anyone would intervene - in fact, he imagined that the sight might end up attracting a line of raiders looking to use MacCready’s mouth as a cumdumpster. The thought made his dick hard and his head light and MacCready wasn’t sure how to feel about this new fact about himself. At least he didn’t have to think on it much for the moment, as most of his mental energy was going into keeping his throat muscles relaxed so he didn’t choke to death on this man’s massive dick. 

The raider was getting close. His knees were weak and his dick jumped when forced to leave the warm confines of MacCready’s cheeks. MacCready could taste something thick and bitter trailing along his tongue. If he had the capacity he would try to spit it out, but now there wasn’t a single moment his mouth wasn’t occupied by cock. 

The time between thrusts was growing longer. MacCready found himself struggling to take involuntary breaths while the raider's dick was still cutting off his air. He would come up panting only to have his face rammed again before he could catch his breath. MacCready’s vision blurred, tears creating a mosaic of light around the dimming world. 

Finally, the raider buried his cock deep in MacCready's throat and held him there in a vice grip. After only a few seconds MacCready felt the need for air and tried to pull his head back, but the rough hands held him in place as warmth filled the back of MacCready’s esophagus. MacCready tried to yell, but thoroughly gagged as he was, all he managed to accomplish was to send waves of vibrations along the raider’s still-hard dick. The raider leaned against the alley wall, bracing himself with a hand as he swore and moaned while keeping his other hand wrapped around the back of MacCready’s skull, wanting to feel the ex-merc’s mouth around him in his afterglow. MacCready felt his muscles loosen as darkness crept into the edges of his vision. 

A part of him panicked as he ran out of air, another part didn’t care. Suffocation by cock - fucked to death by a raider using MacCready’s mouth to lose his virginity. It felt like an appropriate end for MacCready, given how his life had been going recently. At the very least he went out on his own terms, sort of.

MacCready sucked in air with choked gasps as the softening cock slid out from his mouth. Semen and spit came back up and MacCready crumpled to the filthy concrete floor as he gasped for air and wiped his mouth. Fluids painted his face, trailing from his parted lips and trickling down his nose in a humiliating, lude display. The raider was still panting, back pressed against the wall on the other side of the alley. His dick had fallen back down between his legs, slick from MacCready’s spit and thoroughly spent. The raider looked at MacCready as he breathed, seeming unsure of what to do with him now that they were finished. In the end, the raider tucked himself back into his pants and walked off without a word. 

Left alone, MacCready worked to catch his breath and clean himself up to some respectable degree. The asphyxiation had left him light-headed, yet his dick had remained rock hard. In fact, his cock seemed to have thoroughly enjoyed the experience; far more than MacCready did, at least. MacCready reached into his pants and grasped himself with a full-body shudder. It didn't take long for MacCready to bring himself close, pausing only once to lick his hand to prove some lubrication. He moaned in relief and pleasure as he came, ribbons of cum shooting across his underwear. He leaned back against the wall, panting and sweating as the sun peeked over the edge of the alley walls. It was almost noon. 

MacCready took a minute to collect himself before standing back up, awkwardly shuffling to avoid cum sliding down his pants leg. He staggered the first two steps, feeling weak in the knees and a little light-headed. MacCready realized he was hungry when his stomach growled, seemingly upset by its breakfast of half a bowl of cereal and cum. He could smell roasting meat from somewhere nearby, but he wouldn't trust any food from this place even if he still had the caps for it. 

So MacCready did his best to awkwardly shuffle through the crowd towards the main gate, elbowing aside raiders who paid little attention to him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Content Warnings** : _Semi-consentual blow job, semi-public sex, choking, deep throating, swallowing, masturbation_


	13. It hurts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Major** warnings for this chapter - this is probably the most graphic chapter of this work, so check the content warnings in the end notes if you need to.

MacCready found himself a new routine shortly thereafter. Wake up, have breakfast, chat with the Overboss, then go to the Pack to be screwed by three-to-four raiders before lunch. It wasn’t the worst schedule MacCready had ever had - at least this one he got to make for himself. 

It hadn’t started out so dramatic. MacCready had waited almost a week before going back to the messed up corner of Nuka World USA where people were kept in cages alongside animals. In truth, the night after his impromptu blowjob he had told himself he wouldn’t go back there ever again. He’d had trouble performing with the Overboss that night, which had not only aroused suspicion but had also led to almost four hours of torment as the Overboss tried to get him off. At the very least the Overboss seemed to have too much of a good time edging MacCready to ask too many questions. 

When MacCready went back the next time it was purely on a whim. The Pack was fighting a ghoulified gorilla against a person. He’d almost left as soon as he saw the gorilla lift up their victim’s severed arm, but that same raider who’d had him on his knees six days prior caught him by the shoulder.

_ “Well look at that - the beta male came back for more,” _ The raider smiled, looking back at his friend.  _ “I’m telling you, he’s got the best mouth for miles.” _

_ “Like you would know,” _ His friend, a raider woman with radstag antlers tied to her head, rolled her eyes.  _ “You’re such a virgin.” _

_ “Am not!”  _ The raider bickered. He looked to MacCready with a glare.  _ “You, back me up here.” _

_ “Can confirm,” _ MacCready said with a shrug.  _ “What can I say? I had fifteen minutes to kill and I was bored.” _

The raider-in-antlers narrowed her eyes at him, but smiled nonetheless.  _ “Huh. So he really did manage to find someone pathetic enough to suck him off.”  _ She said.  _ “Mind showing me a good time too?”  _

_ “Well, when you sweet-talk me like that, how can I say no?”  _

MacCready ended up quickly garnering himself a reputation, one that he absolutely  _ loathed.  _ And yet he returned to it over and over, confiding in his new alter ego as the Pack’s resident cocksucker. He was careful to mix up his outfit when he went to visit the Pack, leaving his distinguishing coat and hat behind so that no one was quick to recognize him. Rumors spread fast among raiders, and the last thing he wanted was word getting back to the Overboss that his exclusive little fuck-toy was hanging out around the block. 

It would only be a matter of time before he found out, though, so maybe MacCready wasn’t as concerned about that as he thought. 

Predictably, it was mostly guys who ended up wanting to mess around with MacCready, but on occasion the girls of the Pack would hit him up too. He made a rule of no vaginal sex, which ended up getting him labeled with all kinds of nasty slurs, but the last time he had thought it was safe to screw around like that he’d ended up with a kid, and he wasn’t about to turn some raider into a mother. It also helped keep MacCready from coming while he was out, which made keeping all this a secret from his “exclusive” partner so much easier. 

Most of the time his raider-of-the-evening (really afternoon, mostly. And occasionally morning) would leave MacCready as soon as they were finished with him, discarding the merc in whichever alleyway they had decided to fuck in. It put a hell of a lot of cracks in his self-image, but those were preferable to the ones who got attached. There were a few times that MacCready would be milling about, waiting for his next hook up, only to be caught by the elbow and dragged over to the arena to watch whatever sick deathmatch the Pack had planned for the day. There was no polite way to excuse himself from these little ‘dates’, and no reason to, considering the people who dragged him on these dates were the lowest scum of the Commonwealth, but it was still awkward to see the raiders look so dejected and down-trodden when MacCready caught their eye the next day. 

It didn’t take long for the Pack Alpha Mason to catch on to what was happening. It wasn’t as though no one recognized MacCready - he didn’t do much in the way of ‘disguising’ himself besides changing up his clothes. MacCready had been pinned up against the wall with half his outfit on the floor when Mason first decided to air his grievances with the merc by blowing his partner’s brains out. 

“ _ What the fuc- shi-!??” _ MacCready yelled, frantically stepping back from the gore and blood that used to be a man’s head while trying to pull his pants back up. “ _ Why?? _ ”

“Don’t be so naive, beta-male,” Mason growled, shoving his shotgun into its holster at his side. “If you plan on tempting the Overboss’ wrath in my backyard at least have the balls to be a man about it.” He marched up to MacCready, who found himself with his back against a wall. He bared his teeth in a snarl, forced to crane his neck up to meet the raider’s stare. “Personally, I don’t give two shits if the Overboss decides to put your head on a pike and throw your body to the dogs. I’ll be first in line to feed the mutts your spleen.” Mason jabbed a thick finger in MacCready’s face. “But you don’t go fucking things up for me and my gang, are we clear?” 

“Crystal,” MacCready said through gritted teeth to disguise the tremor in his voice. 

Relieved as he was that he’d survived the encounter, MacCready was left in a sour mood for the next two days. Who did that guy think he was, talking to MacCready like that? He thinks he’s tough shit just because he wears some necklace and has a whole bunch of murderers in animal costumes doing his dirty work? 

In reality, though, Mason was right. MacCready was going to get himself killed carrying on like this. It wasn’t suicide, per se, but if there was another word that meant the same thing with a less harsh connotation that would be what he’d call it. Mason was trying to protect his own from MacCready’s recklessness. Not to mention the fact that Mason was actually the more powerful of the two of them by every conceivable metric. MacCready was just the Overboss’ tag-along; he didn’t have any authority here that didn’t come from caps or getting on his knees. 

But MacCready never liked being told what to do, even if it was in his best interest, which is part of the reason why he found himself back in the Pack's den less than two days after his ‘chat’ with Mason. It took almost eight days for Mason to catch on to the fact that MacCready was back, and a few more for him to do anything about it. It seemed Mason had laid down some rules about screwing the Overboss’ plaything, which had led to a long, awkward dry spell, which was broken after MacCready was invited to an orgy on day four.  _ “Just to watch.” _ As they said. 

as soon as the Pack decided to openly disregard Mason’s warning, the leader decided to take matters into his own hands in a very  _ literal  _ sense. 

MacCready choked, clawing at the massive fingers wrapped around his throat. He was blinded by blood that had come from the two now-decapitated pack members. The rest of his 'friends' had taken off, one with a nasty-looking bullet wound in their left arm that probably wasn't gonna heal right. 

“I really should just kill you, Beta Male,” Mason growled, his grip tightening around MacCready’s neck. “Save me a lot of fuckin’ work if I did.”

MacCready was out of air and the restricted blood flow to his head made it hard to hear. His head ached from where it had been slammed against the brick wall behind him, and for a few seconds he was certain he was going to pass out. 

It actually hurt  _ worse _ when he was released than when he was being choked. As soon as those meaty fingers left his neck the blood hit his brain like a bullet. It was like a migraine and an overdose all at once, all the while he was gasping for breath after being denied air for a solid minute.

“Instead, I’m gonna waste my time dragging your sorry ass back to the Overboss,” Mason said, yanking MacCready to his feet before the man could come close to being ready. It left him stumbling, held up only by the other man’s grip on his arm. “You have no idea how lucky you are. If he didn’t like you so much I’d cut your legs off and let the wolves eat you alive.”

“W-wa- wait..” MacCready breathed, stumbling as he was dragged from the alleyway. “You- you can’t… tell.”

“Where the fuck do you get off telling me what to do, welp?” Mason spit, arm tightening around MacCready’s wrist. 

“Please… he’ll kill me!” MacCready begged, heart hammering in his throat. Despite weeks of aloofly daydreaming about death, faced with a fully realized and imminent demise, MacCready balked. 

“If we’re lucky,” Mason said as he tugged the struggling merc along. “Kick and scream all you want. Put on a show. It’s been a boring week for me.” 

“Please… I won’t come back again, I swear,” MacCready said. He planted his feet firmly into the cobblestone and pried at the fingers wrapped around his wrist. He'd known from the start how this would all end, but deep down MacCready was too scared of death to let himself be killed. Mason didn’t even seem to notice his resistance. If MacCready kept trying to break free the man would probably just end up carrying him out on his shoulder. “Please… Please… Pack leader, come on…” MacCready begged. “There’s gotta be something I can do to change your mind.”

“Are you trying to fuck me to save your life, you disgusting little shit?” Mason spit, turning to face the merc. MacCready swallowed, forcing himself to make eye contact with the much larger man. He was shaking openly now. 

“D-depends. Would that work?” MacCready said weakly, attempting a smirk that came out a grimace. Mason narrowed his eyes, releasing MacCready’s wrist only to kick him to the ground. 

“You are fucking pathetic, you know that?” He spit on MacCready, and somewhere in him MacCready remembered a time when he wouldn’t let himself be insulted by anyone. The person he was before would have shoved himself back up to his feet and punched Mason right in his crooked, ugly teeth, even if it didn’t do jack. 

MacCready looked up at the pack leader. “T-that… isn’t a no…” He said. The pack leader curled his lip and raised his boot only to bring it back down squarely on MacCready’s face. MacCready’s head hit the pavement with a  _ crack _ and his nose poured blood, crooked sideways by the force. He squirmed in pain, hands wrapped around the center of his face where waves of agony radiate outwards from. 

“Well then, bend over,” Mason growled. MacCready dared to look up at the man with arms impatiently crossed over his chest. MacCready snorted and sputtered through his broken nose, knowing he couldn’t look anywhere close to attractive right now. Mason snarled, looking every bit the animal he was supposed to represent. “You’d better move fast.” 

“I-if I do this,” MacCready said, getting to his knees, “you won’t tell the Overboss, right?” MacCready was struck again, this time with a closed fist to the side of his face. 

“Shut. Up,” Mason growled. “If I wanted to hear your mewling I’d rip your fingernails out and feed them to you.” Mason looked around, seeming to think on something before coming to a decision. 

Mason snatched the front of the t-shirt MacCready had chosen as his disguise of the day, lifting him up to eye level. “This is your absolute last chance, do you understand me?” Mason growled. “Never, ever,  _ ever _ come back here. Next time, I will end you, and after I tell your boss about what you’ve been up to, he’ll thank me. Got it?” 

MacCready kept his mouth shut as he was half-dragged along the alleys and through a passageway between walls. MacCready's hands were on his nose, trying to stem the bleeding before it left him lightheaded. He hadn’t even had lunch before hitting up the raiders, and between all the excitement and head wounds he was already staggering in his steps.

Mason approached a barrel that smelled like feces and refuse and shoved MacCready over it on his stomach. He had to stop himself from gagging at the smell - at the very least the blood helped stop up his nose from the worst of the odor, but instead, the scent filled his mouth like swallowing raw sewage. MacCready felt his heartbeat thump hard in his chest as his pants were pulled down by the raider behind him. He realized very quickly that the option of using his mouth to solve the problem here was out the window. He began to panic, unable to breathe through his nose, and he had to remind himself over and over that the alternative was death. 

“Have you- have you ever done this before?” MacCready asked, voice cracking more than once. Fear began to take control, but it seemed that Mason knew a frightened animal when he saw one and the man clamped down on MacCready’s wrists as soon as his cock was out. 

“No, and don’t expect me to make this fun for you,” Mason said. “I want you to pay me back for every raider I’ve lost and all the trouble you put me through, Beta Male.”

MacCready gasped as Mason’s dick touched at his entrance, separating l his cheeks. His breath caught and left him sputtering on blood and mucus when he couldn’t get enough air in through his mouth alone. He struggled, reflectively, unthinkingly, but the hands on his wrists clamped down harder and the raider’s entire weight pressed on his spine. 

“W-wait,  _ wait _ ,” MacCready cried, thrashing as he hyperventilated. “I- I changed my mind… P-please-  _ stop _ !” 

“Quit squirming,” Mason growled. “This was your idea, runt.” 

“ _ No!!! _ ” MacCready screamed at the top of his lungs, running out his oxygen fast as he thrashed. Nails dug into his wrists as Mason shoved him down and thrust his entire cock into MacCready’s clenched entrance. 

MacCready  _ screamed _ . Mason had already been fully hard when he went in, and all MacCready’s struggling had managed to accomplish was misalign the raider's dick so it went in at an angle. It tore through his walls and strained the muscles there, and when Mason shifted back MacCready could feel a coppery slickness leak from him that could only be his own blood. 

The pain was immeasurable and intimate, so far beyond what could be considered enjoyable it wasn’t even comparable. It was like an internal knife wound, the pain jabbing and surreal. MacCready sobbed when Mason pulled out, the fight all wrung out of him. He doubled over, choked on his own misery as his body settled into this new state of being. 

“There, better,” Mason said, finally letting up on MacCready’s wrists. “Now, just hold still.” 

“Oh god, oh god…” MacCready sobbed, voice nasally and broken. This was so much worse than anything he’d ever endured. Breaking bones, bullet wounds - even being raped by the Overboss didn’t compare. He couldn’t even take a breath to steady himself from the torrent of unyielding pain coursing through him; He was certain he was going to pass out when he felt Mason press the tip of his cock to his entrance yet again. MacCready could do little more than whimper a soft, “ _ wait, please _ -” Before another scream was ripped from him as the cock was thrust back inside him. 

The knife-wound feeling inside him exploded, the tear deepening. There was blood, he could feel it, and oh  _ god there was blood.  _ It squelched out from his hole as the raider pumped inside of him, sticking to MacCready's inner thigh. Mason didn’t care, he probably enjoyed it. He kept up a steady pace, rutting inside of MacCready greedily. Through his pain-induced delirium, he immediately pitied any sex partner this man had ever had. 

The motions became repetitive and it was as if someone had stuck a hot iron inside of him. The sharp pain dulled and became a torrent of liquid fire inside him. As Mason’s dick carved a path inside him, his body adjusted, but the pain did not lessen. Instead, MacCready was treated with a whole new form of agony when Mason struck his prostate dead on and his whole body jerked to respond. He was in too much pain to feel pleasure, instead, he only felt the taxing burden of his senses struggling to keep up. MacCready gagged, choking on blood and spit as he was violated. 

“God, this is hard work,” Mason laughed in his ear, voice thick with arousal despite it all. “It’s so tight down there I can hardly move. I think I prefer a pussy, honestly.” He paused to catch his breath, “though it looks like you’re wet down there in your own way, runt.” 

MacCready couldn’t process the degrading words, his mind coming down from the high of agony only to create a backlog of pain in his head. He screamed when the sensation of ripping in half hit him again, then blacked out for only a second before coming back to scream again.

Death was preferable, MacCready realized far too late. It was probably going to happen anyways at this rate. If he didn’t bleed out now there was no way this wouldn’t cause some sort of nasty infection. He needed a stimpack and some antibiotics, but like  _ hell _ was he going to Mckenzie for this. The Overboss would undoubtedly find out; if it was any consolation for MacCready, at least the very first person the Overboss would probably kill after him was Mason. 

Even if he could put those thoughts together coherently, they wouldn’t comfort him. MacCready’s entire world was pain and fire and burning. This was hell, he was certain of it. 

_ “What the fuck do you think you’re doing??” _

MacCready was barely conscious when the words came, but he immediately recognized the voice. The Overboss. He was unable to understand what that would mean for him, too exhausted and traumatized for rational thought. Instead, all he felt was the immediate relief of Mason’s cock sliding out from inside him. Without the pressure of the other man holding him up, MacCready was free to slide down to the ground and crumple into a heap in the filthy alleyway.

There was an argument. Heated words exchanged. MacCready didn’t think he’d ever heard the Overboss truly  _ yell _ before. It was unnerving. 

There was the crack of a shotgun, followed by screaming and several more rounds of gunfire. MacCready realized he was in danger and found just enough strength to crawl away from the battlefield. He was snatched by the shoulder before he could get far. 

“Just where do you think you’re going?” The Overboss said. MacCready closed his eyes, the last of his strength drained by a long, involuntary shiver that ran through his entire body. He mentally and emotionally prepared himself for the end, just as he’d been practicing on-and-off-again for the past two weeks. 

He let his muscles go slack and the world go dark. He couldn’t tell if he’d already been shot or stabbed or killed in some other way, or if he was just too exhausted to continue. It didn’t matter, there was no more fight left in him. He passed out to the dismayed cries of the Overboss calling his name.

“MacCready? MacCready!”

\---

In the end, it took a series of four stimpacks, two antibiotics, a herbal remedy, and an unbelievable amount of purified water to revive him. MacCready was in and out of consciousness during the processes, mostly addressed by a frantic Mckenzie, who he tried to reassure despite having nothing of comfort or consequence to say. He could hardly remember half the time what had happened to put him there. 

At some point he was transferred back to the Overboss’ apartment. He vaguely remembered walking there on his own, high as a kite off Med-X and Buffout. He might have been supported on one side by the Overboss, clinging to the man’s arm while Mckenzie carried his other side. All he knew for sure is that he made it from the clinic to his bed on the terrace. 

It was hard to tell just how much time had passed between events. The timeline itself was a blur - MacCready found himself struggling to recall the exact order of events if he could manage to remember the events themselves. He was fairly certain he’d been raped by Mason, though the details were long gone from his mind. That was probably for the best, he supposed. 

The most important bit of information he was lacking was just how the Overboss felt about him after all that had happened. Clearly the man still wanted MacCready alive; if he didn’t MacCready would be dead ten times over by now, either left to bleed out on his own in the alleyway or dismembered by the Overboss himself. It was always possible the Overboss wanted him healed so he could do something extra messed up to the merc - MacCready had seen a handful of executions at the Pack, most of which involved taking the inside parts of a person and putting them on the outside or feeding them to various animals. 

MacCready wrapped his arms around his knees at the thought, trying to put it out of mind. He knew he was in trouble, but hopefully he could talk (or more likely, fuck) his way out of the worst punishments. And besides, it wasn’t like he was going to be executed by the Pack any time soon…

“...and for those just tuning in, this is a reminder to all raiders at Nuka-World! Open Season has been declared on the members of the gang formerly known as The Pack. If you see anyone wearing their gear, do them a favor and shoot them in the head before the Overboss gets his hands on them. I don’t know what those guys did to piss him off, but trust me, it’s  _ bad _ . Negotiations are underway between the Operators and Disciples over who gets the Pack’s shit now that they’ve been ixnay’d. It looks like the slaves are going to the Operators while the pack animals have been…” 

MacCready turned off the radio, unable to listen anymore. The entire gang… wiped out in a  _ day _ . Really it wasn’t all of them - it seemed the Overboss was generous enough to let some members live if they wanted to switch gangs, but from the sounds of things there hadn’t been a lot of Pack members willing to convert. There were well over 200 raiders in that gang, possibly more MacCready hadn’t seen in other colonies. And the Overboss had systematically executed them all over the span of twenty-four hours. 

And if the radio host was to be believed (and that was a  _ big _ if), the Overboss’ claims of immortality had been made public during his little stunt. 

_ “It was like nothing I’d ever seen. Well, I mean, I didn’t see it myself, but everyone else says the man’s invincible. He took twelve shots point-blank to the skull and didn’t even  _ blink _. A pack veteran told me he’d fired two mini-nukes at the guy and he just kept walkin’. Then that pack veteran got his neck turned inside out when the Overboss stormed the studio. I said to him ‘hey man, I’m just doin’ my job, keepin’ the people informed.’ and the Overboss said, ‘yeah, I know, Red-Eye, keep up the good work. You’re a brave man, and I love hearin’ you sing. You keep bein’ you.’” _

MacCready shook his head. Red-Eye was a delusional idiot. Every other word that came out of his mouth was a lie; it was still possible the Overboss could be killed, and with the number of enemies he was racking up right now, there were a lot of people willing to put his supposed immortality to the test. It was also possible that MacCready was in a coma, and this whole Nuka-World chapter of his life is just a dream, and sometime soon he’d wake up and be home with Duncan and Lucy. 

God, he wanted that to be true. He could almost believe it if he focused hard enough. 

MacCready heard the elevator  _ whir  _ and turned his eyes to watch the pulley system spin, bringing the platform up. 

“Oh thank god, you’re awake,” The Overboss said, coming off the wooden planks and half-jogging to greet MacCready where he sat in bed. 

“I am,” MacCready said, unable to put any emotion behind the words. He couldn’t feel anything at all, so what was the point in pretending? It wasn’t like he was going to be alive much longer anyways. 

The Overboss wrapped his arms around MacCready in what he could only guess was a hug. It probably should have shocked him, but MacCready was beyond surprise when it came to this psychopath. He had come to accept that the Overboss was as equally likely to pull out a homemade mini-nuke as he was to bend him over a table at any given moment. MacCready didn’t have the energy to process this new display of affection among the incongruities life had for him. 

When the hug ended the Overboss pulled back and looked MacCready over. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?” He said, brushing a tangle of hair out of MacCready’s face. “I left you in capable hands, but you were bleeding something fierce last I saw.” 

MacCready shrugged. He hadn’t noticed any new blood, but it wasn’t like he’d been looking. There were aches in every single part of his body, many in places he’d rather not think about. The Overboss sighed and went to sit next to MacCready on the mattress. He didn’t say another word, instead busying himself with tangling his fingers in MacCready’s hair and sighing. MacCready could smell blood and gore on his clothes, though they were too dark to stain. 

“Are you mad?” MacCready asked finally with a bored curiosity.

“No, of course not,” The Overboss said quietly, then amended. “Well, yes actually, I’m furious, but not with you.” 

“So you aren’t going to kill me, then?” MacCready said. 

“No!” The Overboss shouted, leaning forward to look MacCready in the face. “Why on earth would I do that?” 

“Because I was screwing around with the Pack,” MacCready replied, thinking that the answer should have been obvious. Apparently, it was not, because the Overboss seemed confused and exasperated. 

“There is no more Pack, MacCready,” He said, darkness overtaking his tones, “we never have to think about those bastards again.” Silence. Then, the Overboss spoke again. “You seem… uncertain.” He said, struggling to find the words to describe someone else’s emotions. 

“I figured you’d be a lot more upset, honestly,” MacCready said. “You don’t strike me as the kind of man who shares.” 

“I’m not,” The Overboss said. “But I know you didn’t really have a choice. I’ve made every single person who took advantage of you pay, sweetheart, there’s no hard feelings.”

MacCready opened his mouth, fully intending to prove the Overboss wrong - because he wasn’t taken advantage of, he had made a  _ choice. _ He had sought out companionship in others; anyone who wasn’t the Overboss would do, anyone was better. He wanted to spit at the man, tell him how much he despised him, how every day he would rather be  _ dead _ than spend another minute around him. 

But MacCready shut his mouth instead. Because honestly, what was even the point? The only two outcomes were that the Overboss would ignore him, or kill him - and MacCready still wasn’t ready to take his own life. He realized that he was never going to be ready to die, even if it meant escaping this hell on earth. MacCready was a coward. A coward, a thief, an idiot, a killer, a debtor - every flavor of evil that existed could be found in him, every single one except the audacity to commit suicide. 

And as his lips were pressed to those of the Overboss, MacCready had a realization. His mentality shifted, and apathy drained from his being like beer from an upturned bottle and fizzling out on the ground. Death was the only way he could think of to escape, and he wasn’t willing to take it, which meant that he was going to stay here for the foreseeable future - but by god, he was  _ not  _ going to sit by and let his life be directed to him. 

So MacCready kissed the Overboss back, hands coming up to hold his non-consensual lover’s cheeks and rake his nails down his face. The Overboss’ eyes widened, but he didn’t make any move to stop MacCready. MacCready climbed on top of the man, pushing him down into the bed and taking out every bit of pent-up aggression he had in him by tearing at the courser jacket that the Overboss so proudly wore and fondling the man. 

“About time you showed a little initiative,” The Overboss hummed when their mouths broke apart. “I was starting to wonder if you weren’t much more than a pillow princess.” 

MacCready didn’t respond, rather he busied himself by pulling down the Overboss’ pants to get at his cock. His mouth was around the soft flesh in an instant, weeks of practice being put to work as he sucked the man off. MacCready’s nails dug into the Overboss’ thighs, and when he got a little bolder he even decided to wrap his fingers around the other man’s balls and grip them tight. 

“Careful now,” The Overboss warned breathily. “Don’t get too ahead of yourself.” 

MacCready toed the line, but he still had a lot of issues to work out, and this time he was going to make the Overboss the subject of his desires. MacCready sucked and pulled, scratched and clawed; he did absolutely nothing gentle and refused to hesitate. He was Robert Joseph MacCready, Commonwealth gunslinger - he wasn’t some blushing virgin cowering from the dangers of the wasteland. He had been born into hell, raised by demons, taught to murder and drink and fuck by kids just as lost as he was in the world. MacCready was no one’s but his own, never was, never will be. 

So there he was. Twenty-four years old, miles from home, cock in his mouth, fighting off tears as he pleasured the man who held him hostage. So what? It didn’t mean a thing to him. This wasn’t the worst fate in the world. He was financially secure for the first time in his life, well-fed, and with the closest thing to a steady partner he’d had since Lucy. There were just a few loose ends for him to tie up from his old life, but for the most part, MacCready was free. Trapped, caged and bound, but freer than he’d ever been in his life. 

Crying, coming, screaming, laughing - they were all the same thing in the end, weren’t they? Just meaningless emotions in a world that couldn’t care less whether he was in it or not. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Content Warnings:_ **Graphic depictions of violence and rape, non-consentual anal sex, painful sex, bloody sex.**
> 
> And so, with this, we leave Part 1. I can't say how excited I am to share this story with the world. Fun fact - this is the very first time I've ever finished a work longer than 100k words. I'm over the moon about it. And now we inch closer to the conclusion as the final few barriers are hurtled over the next few chapters. Stay tuned, and I'll see you soon~ <3


	14. Loose Ends and Homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are!! It's finally time for the second arc!

“I want to go back to the Commonwealth.”

The Overboss sighed, closing the repairs magazine he had been flipping through. He peered up at MacCready in a disapproving, unimpressed stare behind his thin-framed reading glasses. 

“Really?” He said. “I thought we’d been over this already.”

MacCready tightened his resolve against a wave of anxiety that came crashing over him. He knew this was a bad idea, bordering on suicidal, but he had nothing to lose but his life - and with the way things were going at the park since Mason’s death, he probably wouldn’t have that for too much longer anyways. “Not for long,” MacCready clarified, “I just left something back there I want to get.” 

“You left something?” The Overboss said flatly. “While fleeing the Commonwealth with no intention of ever going back, you left something so important you absolutely must go back to retrieve it - despite the fact that you seemingly forgot about it until just now?” 

MacCready fought not to let his face betray him. “I didn’t have time to get it back before I left,” he lied.

“I see,” The Overboss said with a fake lit of pep in his voice. “And would you be willing to tell me exactly what it is you’re looking for?” When MacCready didn’t answer, he continued. “And let me guess - there’s no replacing it here,” The Overboss stated rather than asked. 

“It’s something with a lot of sentimental value to me,” MacCready said.

“And I suppose you want to go retrieve it on your own,” The Overboss’ voice was growing more annoyed than amused. MacCready had to hurry this along.

“I'd come right back once I had it,” MacCready said. “It won’t take more than a few days - two, tops. Besides, I figured you might need some time to… take care of things here, without having to worry about me getting in the way.”

That made the Overboss smile, endeared by MacCready’s faux-devotion. “Sweetheart, you don’t have to worry about that. You being here doesn’t affect my ability to work at all.”

“I know,” MacCready said. He paused, thinking through what he would say next. MacCready had rehearsed what he would say here word-for-word for the past several hours, but now, faced with the deadly raven-haired mad man, he was faltering. “I just- I would really appreciate if-”

The Overboss laughed and shook his head, and MacCready wisely shut up.

“Let me think on it,” He said, opening back up his magazine and looking down. “I’ll let you know what I decide tomorrow.”

That wasn’t a _no_. MacCready let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been bottling up. “Thanks,” He said. “This... this really means a lot to me.”

“Mhmm,” The Overboss hummed, and MacCready was dismissed. 

\---

“Precious, would you come out to the patio?”

MacCready was woken up by the Overboss’ voice. It was early, according to his body’s natural clock and the crust backed up in the corner of his eyes. MacCready rubbed his face and sat up. The room was dark, illuminated only by the light at the end of the hallway. Black lit and standing at the threshold, the Overboss was waiting for him. 

“Sure,” MacCready grumbled, “let me get some clothes on.”

“Of course,” The Overboss’ shadow left from sight. MacCready pushed off the bed and slid into his pants that he’d discarded on a nearby chair. The Overboss had offered him new clothes many times; his jeans were ripped and stained and likely wouldn’t last much longer, and his duster had always been one thread away from a pile of rags, but MacCready continued to refuse. His clothes were a part of his identity, tears and all, and just about the only scrap left tying him to the person he was before.

MacCready, now fully dressed, snagged his hat from the dresser before trudging his way towards the door, still shaking drowsiness from his head. He pushed open the door and found himself looking at a teenager who he recognized as a former Pack member, though he no longer wore the make-up and mask that would make that obvious. MacCready was suddenly very glad he decided to put on pants before coming out.

“This is Liam,” The Overboss said, “he was a member of the Pack before they… dissolved.” Both of the other men in the room flinched at the callus words. “He was in charge of fitting slave collars and has offered to assist us in prepping you for your mission back to the Commonwealth.”

MacCready was too tired to take in all this new information. Neither of them had discussed MacCready’s request since the day before when he’d first brought it up. MacCready had been wondering if the Overboss would even remember to tell him no, now it suddenly seemed like the Overboss was in favor of the idea. MacCready couldn't tell if he should be ecstatic or terrified, so he settled on anxious. 

The kid, Liam, shifted awkwardly and fiddled with something in his hand - a slave collar.

“What is he doing with that thing?” MacCready asked, pointing at the collar. “Why do I need a collar?”

“Liam has modified the collar to detonate in forty-eight hours, rather than using a proximity trigger,” The Overboss explained. “You told me that two days would be all you needed, correct?” 

MacCready swallowed. He did say that, didn’t he? He would have been much more comfortable taking five days to a week, but if he didn’t rest and made no extra stops he could likely make the trip in time. Reluctantly, MacCready nodded. “Yeah, that’s right.” 

“Good,” The Overboss clapped. “Then sit down over here and let Liam get you set up.”

MacCready and Liam exchanged an awkward look. Liam hadn’t been one of MacCready’s ‘friends’ in the pack, but he still felt responsible for what happened to him and his group. At the very least, Liam was too terrified of the Overboss to be openly mad at MacCready. MacCready sat himself down in a wicker chair and let the kid wrap the leather-and-metal collar around his neck. He tried not to wince as he heard the mechanical _snap_ of the lock and soft _chirp_ of an armed bomb. 48 hours. Two days. He could do this. He had to now. 

MacCready heard two more beeps as Liam adjusted the settings. “It’s all set, sir,” he said, voice revealing the extent of his terror in minute tremors. 

“Good work,” The Overboss patted the young man on the back. “You’re free to go now.” 

The boy practically scrambled to get to the elevator, not bothering to look back as he pressed the button and escaped. If only MacCready could be so lucky. 

“Now, let’s discuss the terms of your leaving,” The Overboss said. 

“I come back in two days or I blow up, I think I got it,” MacCready said, not wanting to waste any time. The sun was just barely over the horizon - it made for a good marker. He had until sunrise two days from now to do what he had to do and get back.

“Yes, that's correct,” The Overboss said, hands clasped behind his back as he began to pace in front of MacCready. “There are also a few other ground rules I want to set before you leave.” 

“Right,” MacCready said. His leg bounced as he listened. 

“I want you back in two days,” The Overboss started with. “You are not to tell anyone where you’ve been or who you’ve been with - if you do I _will_ find out.” Despite the lack of an explanation of how the Overboss would know, MacCready believed him. The man had survived a minor war declared on him by raiders, MacCready would believe him if he claimed he could fly but only when no one was looking. “Also, if you fail to come back in two days, not only will the collar detonate, but I will be inclined to pay that little family of yours a visit.” The Overboss paused, glaring at MacCready with meaningful malice 

MacCready nodded. He’d been expecting the threat, after all. “I can agree to all that,” He said. “Am I free to go now?”

“Of course,” The Overboss said. “There is a train waiting for you in the station to take you back to the Commonwealth. I will see you in two days.”

“Yes boss,” MacCready said, standing up from the chair in a flurry of movement. He didn’t have a moment to waste. The Overboss followed him with his eyes, standing perfectly still as he watched MacCready gather up his rifle, a box of ammo, and check that _Deliverer_ was still tucked away in his pocket. The collar shifted uncomfortably on his neck, and MacCready made an effort to tuck it into the fabric of his duster, out of sight. Not another word was exchanged as MacCready rushed to the elevator and descended down into the park.

\---

The Commonwealth was the same empty expanse of barely-tamed wilderness MacCready remembered it to be. It was practically heaven compared to Nuka-World, even if MacCready would rather be traveling through the familiar roads of the Capital rather than the irradiated woods. He tripped over tree roots and spent half the journey looking over his shoulder for yao guais. MacCready didn’t have time to reminisce or fantasize - it was already well past noon and he wasn’t even halfway to Goodneighbor. 

The train had only taken him as far as the western border of the Commonwealth. It was the same station that MacCready had boarded all those months ago. It had been strange to walk out of there after so long, look at the place where had sat with the other poor unlucky guys who had thought they had found their ticket out of this dumpster-fire of a place. He wondered if the ones who had died in the gauntlet were really so unlucky, compared to what they would have been in for if they had survived. He hadn’t had time to think about it - MacCready had spent less than a minute picking the lock to the back gate of the Nuka rail station so he could start his dash to Goodneighbor. 

It was the first time that MacCready had been outside of the Overboss’ circle of influence since he’d met the cruel, sorry excuse for a human being. He couldn’t even enjoy it with the weight of the collar pressing at his spine and the overwhelming feeling of dread that came over him every time he remembered his deadline. 

By the time the sun was low in the sky, MacCready was just north of Bunker Hill. He debated it for a long time, and in the end, MacCready ended up taking a short detour north to visit Med-Tek. It didn't’ take long to verify the Overboss’ claims about his trip - most of the lower floors of the building were decimated by a miniature nuclear explosion and what remained was little more than shredded office supplies and the mutilated remains of a hundred feral ghouls. In the end, MacCready was glad he made the trip, even if it had only served to waste an hour of his precious little time. The piece of mind it gave him was enough to strengthen his resolve.

It was well into the night when MacCready found himself crawling through the ruins of old Boston. Compared to two years ago the streets were much quieter. Even the raider gangs that lived in the Commonwealth had fled a while ago, and most of the super mutants had been mysteriously exterminated (MacCready would bet the honor for that belonged to the Overboss too). Without the Institute there weren’t any synths patrolling, which only left the sewer rats and radroaches to worry about. MacCready hadn’t had to fire his rifle once since entering the city, defeating most of the enemies he encountered by stepping on them. He supposed he had to give credit where credit was due - The Overboss blindly massacring everything in the Commonwealth that looked at him funny _had_ made it just a bit safer. Eerily quiet, but safe. 

Thankfully, Goodneighbor had been spared from most of his rampage by virtue of tall walls and Cleo’s mini-nukes. Before he knew the guy, MacCready had thought the mysterious vault dweller was intimidated by their semi-professional gang army and arsenal - now he was fairly certain that the Overboss just hadn’t wanted to bother with the fight. 

MacCready saw the glowing neon lights reflect against the perpetually moist stone leading up to Goodneighbor’s entrance. Nostalgia flooded MacCready’s system as he turned the corner to follow the signs into the building. The last time he had seen those lights he had thought it would be the final time. MacCready hadn’t realized how much like home this place had become to him until he pushed open the gates and stepped back inside. 

“Holy _shit -_ is that MacCready??”

“I thought he died?”

“He looks like crap.” 

“Do you think he’s still workin’ as a merc?” 

“Not many people left to shoot these days.”

“Let’s invite ‘im over for a beer at the ‘Rail - _Hey, Mac!_ ”

Goodneighbor was just as lively as ever, despite the full moon hanging fairly high up in the sky. This was the city that never slept these days. He was greeted by several old acquaintances, to which MacCready could only smile awkwardly and wave. It had been so long since MacCready had talked to anyone who was genuinely glad to see him (and also not trying to fuck him.) He didn’t answer questions and kept the conversations to the bare minimum. He was fine, wasn’t staying too long, just here to see Daisy…

Eventually, MacCready found himself able to weave through the crowd to Daisy’s stall. Bless that woman for working long nights - MacCready thought he might have missed her when the sun went down, and he’d hate to wake her up just for this.

“Well I’ll be…” Daisy said, laughing in pure disbelief. She smiled from ear to ear when she looked over her old friend. “Robert Joseph MacCready - where the hell have you been?”

Despite everything, MacCready found himself smiling back at her from across the counter as he stepped into her store. She hadn't changed a bit; seeing her smile and black wig felt like coming home even more than walking through the gates had. “I’ve been busy,” He said. “Sorry I haven’t made time to write.” 

“I’m just glad you still got hands to write with. You worried us, running off in the middle of the night like that,” She said. MacCready felt guilt crawl inside him. He hadn’t really thought about what disappearing the way he did would look like to everyone else. He’d been so desperate to get back home…

Before MacCready could apologize again, this time a bit more sincerely, Daisy reached under the counter and pulled out a booklet of letters. “I got these for you while you were gone. I’ll be honest, I might have opened a few of them up to see if you were still alive. I heard your son got that cure.”

MacCready smiled, relieved to finally have real confirmation that his son was alright. “Yeah… he did,” MacCready said, unsure of how to explain without breaking the Overboss’ rules. “It’s a long story.” 

“Why don’t you tell it to me over a few glasses of wine? I just got some in from a trader - vintage shit, almost older than me!” She chuckled at her own self-depreciation. MacCready’s smile fell and he shook his head. 

“I’m sorry, Daze, I’m in a hurry,” he said, reaching for the strap of ‘his’ rifle. Daisy watched curiously as MacCready unslung the gun and placed it back onto the counter. “I wanted to give this back. It’s been upgraded a bit, so was hoping you could do me one last favor.” After everything she’d done for him over the years, MacCready doubted he had the right to ask for more, but he didn’t have the luxury of guilt anymore.

Daisy picked up the rifle and inspected it, eyes wide as she took in the nearly flawless condition of the weapon MacCready had spent the last two years maintaining and caring for as though it were a treasured artifact. “Shit,” She muttered, “I forgot I even loaned you this thing.” She said before she laid the gun back down on the counter. “I guess that means you’re here for your collateral, huh?” She laughed. “And here I thought this was a friendly visit.”

MacCready shrugged, not bothering to hide the guilt that crept into his face. Daisy didn’t seem genuinely offended, at least, as she stepped into the back and unlocked her safe. “I figured if this meant as much to you as you claimed I better keep it with all the other valuable shit I’ve been hoarding.” She said, retrieving a folded-up handkerchief from the back of the vault and closing the door. MacCready reached out to accept the small package, unfolding the corners so that he could stare at the face of the tiny wooden soldier. 

_“This is for my favorite soldier,”_ _Lucy said as she handed him the carving. “I carved it myself. Do you like it?”_

_MacCready had never felt more horrible in his life as he stared at the beady black eyes painted onto the toy. Lucy looked at him expectantly, seeing him as the brave soldier he claimed to be, and not the heartless murderer he actually was. MacCready smiled through his feelings, and said, “I love it,” before kissing his future wife._

MacCready spent too long looking at the faded painted face. He had tried his hardest to preserve the beauty of it, but time had chipped away at it and he couldn’t bring himself to cover up the brush strokes put there by Lucy’s freckle-speckled hands.

“Thanks for keeping it safe,” MacCready said, gingerly folding the fabric back over the toy with all the reverence of a preacher carrying a holy artifact. 

“No problem, thanks for paying back your debts,” Daisy said. “I always knew you were one of the good ones.” MacCready would disagree, but he didn’t have the energy to refute someone as strong-willed as Daisy, even on the best of days. “Now, you said you needed a favor from me? Was that it, or was there something else?”

MacCready nodded reluctantly. He hated that he needed this from her, but there was no one else he could trust, and it wasn’t like the Overboss had let him leave with a bag full of caps to hire someone. “Yeah. It’s nothing big, I promise,” he assured her. Daisy raised a brow.

“Well?” She said. “You gonna tell me, or am I gonna have to break out the wine before you tie yourself into knots worryin’ about it?” 

MacCready chuckled. “I’ll talk, I’ll talk,” he said. “I’ve never been a wine guy, you know.”

“I’m aware,” Daisy said, still waiting on MacCready to talk. He sighed. 

“I need you to write a letter to Duncan for me,” MacCready said, allowing himself to become more serious. Daisy seemed confused by the sudden shift in tone.

“Shit, is that all?” Daisy chuckled, already reaching for a pen and her clipboard. “I’d do that for free.”

MacCready smiled. “Thanks, Daisy. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

“Anytime,” She said, walking out from behind the counter and taking a seat at her kitchen table across the room. “Now, what do you want me to write?”

MacCready took a seat across from her. He’d been thinking about this for a while now; he practically spent the entire trip wording and rewording the letter in his head. MacCready gripped the little soldier in his hands tight.

“Tell him that I’m okay and that I’m sorry I haven’t been able to see him lately.” Daisy immediately lowered her head and started scribbling. She was from a time when everyone was literate, and she wrote faster and clearer than he ever could, making her the perfect person to write for MacCready, who could only spell his own name with any degree of confidence. MacCready continued to dictate. “I’m so happy he’s feeling better now, and that I’m sorry I can’t be there with him. Something’s… come up. And I won’t be coming home again. Ever.” Daisy frowned. She paused, thinking, then continued to write at a much slower pace. He could tell she was changing his words. That was fine. MacCready couldn’t find the right words after all this time, but maybe Daisy can. She was good at that kind of thing. He soldiered through his constricting throat like the man the little wooden toy in his hands represented. 

“Tell him I love him so much, more than anything in the world, and not to think for a _moment_ that I wouldn’t be by his side right now if I could.” MacCready took a breath, pausing to let Daisy catch up. When the pen stopped moving MacCready placed the wooden doll on the table. “This belongs to him now. Tell him that his mother made it for me when we first got together. She carved it for her favorite soldier so he wouldn’t forget her when he was out fighting. His mother would want him to have this.” 

The frown on Daisy’s face was getting deeper, and she glanced up at him from time to time, as if checking that MacCready was sure about what he was saying. When she came to the end she let MacCready sign his own name to the message and helped him spell out ‘I love you’ in his own handwriting. Then Daisy folded up the letter and carefully tied it to the fabric that was wrapped around the soldier. MacCready watched Duncan’s name spelled out on a courier tag along with instructions on where to deliver the package. 

“I need you to write one more letter for me,” MacCready said. “This one to Duncan’s guardians.” Daisy nodded and tore off another sheet from her notebook. Pen at the ready, she waited for him. “Tell them they need to leave as soon as they read this letter. Don’t tell anyone that they’re leaving or where they’re going - just get as far away from the east coast as possible. They gotta pack light, can't leave a trail, and don’t tell anyone where they’re from or what their real names are. And they gotta pretend they don’t know me - in fact, don’t ever mention my name again, to anyone or for any reason. Pretend I never existed. Duncan is theirs now, and I’m trusting them to take care of him.”

Unlike last time, Daisy starred at MacCready rather than take notes on what he was saying. Her black eyes were wide, mouth hung open as if she couldn’t believe what he was saying. MacCready made a motion for her to start writing, but the pen remained motionless.

“MacCready… are you sure about this?” Daisy asked. “If I send this letter, you’re never gonna see that boy again.” 

MacCready nodded solemnly. “I know,” He said. Daisy’s brows knit and she put the pen down on the table.

“What kind of shit have you gotten yourself into, Mac?” She asked, leaning forward. 

“The not-good kind,” MacCready said with a shake of his head. “I can’t say more than that. I’m sorry.” He had trusted her more than he had anyone outside of his family - she was the only one to know about Duncan, after all - but he wasn’t going to put her in danger like that, or his son.

“You don’t have to do this,” She said. “Whatever's happening, we can help. We may not have Hancock around anymore, but Goodneighbor is still family. We take care of ours, and you’re one of us.”

MacCready smiled soberly at his old friend as he reached up to grab the collar of his shirt, pulling it back to reveal the flashing lights hidden beneath the fabric. Daisy starred confused, then horrified as she realized what she was looking at.

“Is that a…” She trailed off when MacCready nodded. 

“It goes off if I don’t go back. I bought myself just enough time to come here and make it back before me and everything around me goes up in smoke.” MacCready folded his shirt back over the slave collar as he spoke. He hated the pitying gaze Daisy was giving him - it wasn’t like her to look that soft. She must have realized it too, because her expression firmed up after just another moment. 

“That doesn’t matter,” Daisy said. “We got Amari - she can figure out how to get that thing off, and then we’ll march right over to whatever bastard decided to strap a goddamn bomb to you and-”

“He knows where Duncan lives, Daisy,” MacCready cut her off, unable to listen to any more of her plan. Daisy shut her mouth, even though she still looked like she wanted to argue. MacCready grit his teeth and took a deep breath, trying to speak past the lump in his throat. “It’s fine. I just need to make sure Duncan is safe. That’s all I have time to do.” His eyes were hot and he hated himself for it. Since when did he cry so much? He thought he was tougher than this. “Please, can you just write the letter for me? Please...” 

Daisy sighed. “Alright, Mac, alright,” She picked back up the pen. “Go over it for me one more time, would you?” 

MacCready nodded, repeating his warning and instructions to Daisy. She seemed to take a lot less liberty with the wording, copying down what MacCready told her exactly as he said it. When she was done that letter was also signed, folded up, and stamped for the courier to pick up in the morning. 

“Thanks, Daisy,” MacCready, sighing in relief. “I… I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

“Don’t mention it, darlin’,” Daisy said. “I’m sorry I can’t do anythin’ more to help you.” 

“You’ve done more than enough for me already,” MacCready said with a relieved chuckle. He stood up as soon as Daisy did, and the two stared at each other for an awkward few moments before Daisy wrapped her arms around him in a friendly hug. 

“You take care of yourself, MacCready,” She said, her rough voice as stern as ever. It felt like she wanted to keep him there forever, safe, but they both knew the reality ticking down between them. Reluctantly, she let him go and stepped back, “And take that gun with you when you leave.”

MacCready jerked, shocked. He tried to refuse but Daisy wouldn’t hear it. 

“I don’t need the damn thing anymore and you clearly do,” she said. “You can give it back to me when you see me again - because you _are_ gonna see me again.” She said, pointing a stern finger at him. 

“I can’t promise that,” MacCready said honestly, and a bit sadly. Daisy shook her head.

“Do it anyways,” She told him. “Promise me you aren’t gonna go out there and let yourself be killed. You are Robert Joseph Mc-goddamn-Cready - you ain’t givin’ up just yet.”

MacCready laughed as Daisy grabbed the rifle and shoved it back into his hands. “Well when you put it like that, how could I say no?” He strapped the gun back over his shoulder, and he couldn’t help but revel in just how _right_ it felt on him. “I promise I won’t die on purpose. I’m actually trying pretty hard to avoid that right now, which is why I gotta get moving.”

Daisy nodded. “You do that, MacCready.” She said, watching him head towards the door. “Take care of yourself out there.” 

MacCready left her with a wave of his hand and headed for the Goodneighbor gates, chest hollowed out now that the soothing lights of the city were no longer in sight. The moon was hanging over him; he still had a full day to travel back to the station, plus the hour-or-so ride to the park. He was making good time if he didn’t want to immediately break his promise to Daisy by exploding. Considering he wasn’t going to make any detours like he had on the trip there, MacCready decided he even had time for a rest stop tomorrow. 

He made it across the river and out of Boston, heading north and to the west. He watched the sun make a full circuit in the sky as he ran across the northern half of the Massachusetts Commonwealth. Just like the journey to Goodneighbor, his travels back met with little resistance. He had only met one obstacle on his way and that was a pack of wild dogs that were easily avoided. He noted that when he got back to Nuka World he would have to thank the Overboss for clearing out the Commonwealth. Cuts down on travel time by a lot

By the time it was night again MacCready's destination came into sight, a long-abandoned shack from before the war. MacCready had made camp there before when a job took him up north. He pushed open the old door and found his sleeping bag still rolled in the cabinet where he left it, along with a corked bottle of rum and a can of old beans. MacCready forwent the can and pulled the cork off the rum with his teeth. He only drank two modest sips before putting the bottle back away. He unrolled the sleeping bag and stripped off his duster and hat before lying down and burying his face in the sewn-in-pillow. 

And then, MacCready screamed. 

##  **_“FUUUUUUUUCK!!!!”_ **

MacCready held the syllable until his lungs strained with effort. His throat ached as he drew in the air needed to do it again. He screamed the word, again and again, substituting it occasionally with other, equally profane words. He screamed every single horrible word he knew, picking up old ones he’d heard once or twice and throwing them into the mix and inventing new ones by mashing the worst swears he knew together. He screamed until he was certain his voice would give out only to start again just another second later. 

The empty void in him where his soul had cracked was filled with fire and it _burned_ like his heart was being torn from his chest, vein by vein. MacCready screamed, knowing that his son was gone - lost to him forever, yet still alive. Still breathing, still going to grow up, even if it was without him, and that was the only reason MacCready could stand living on right then. 

Eventually, he ran out of energy to waste on yelling. MacCready came back to himself as the burning agony in him faded to a vacuous pit. Exhaustion hit him all at once and MacCready collapsed into the bedroll, clutching at his chest as sleep took him. 

As he drifted off, he reminded himself not to sleep in so he didn't break his promise to Daisy. Not just because she was his friend, nor because if he died out here the Overboss would almost certainly come after his kid before he and his guardians had time to flee - but because fuck him. Fuck. Him. Fuck the Overboss, MacCready wanted to _live_ ! And fuck the Overboss for taking that away from him. Fuck him for making him think his life was over without his freedom, his dignity, his son. Fuck him for taking those things away from him, too. Fuck him for everything he had done to MacCready and fuck him for everything he had done to everyone that had come before him. MacCready was done moping. He wasn’t going to lay down and die, he fucking _refused_ . He was going to survive, and he was going to find a way to make the Overboss _pay_.

MacCready fell asleep with vengeance on his mind, completely unaware of the fact that the group fast approaching the cabin shared MacCready’s exact same goals. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was very hard for me to avoid swearing for the first half of this story so that when the dam broke here it would be all the more meaningful. I say it was effort well spent <3


	15. New Friends

MacCready woke up to a banging on the door. It was still night, though the moon had dipped significantly in the sky, making it harder to see when the only light in the room was the flashing red of his collar counting down to his doom. He frowned, reaching for his handgun. Who the fuck knocks on an abandoned door? Someone who knew the house attached wasn’t abandoned, that's for damn sure, but also someone who wasn’t looking to rob or murder the inhabitants in their sleep. The mysterious stranger could be anyone from a lost settler to a raider ambush. 

Airing on the side of caution MacCready stayed quiet, keeping himself crouched out of sight with  _ Deliverer  _ in hand. Whoever-it-was waited for a solid thirty seconds before knocking on the door again, this time raising his voice. “Hey, you - mind letting me in?” The voice sounded familiar, but MacCready couldn’t place it. “I’m travelin’ to Diamond City and I was hoping I could crash here for the night.”

“If you’re lookin’ for Diamond City you’re movin’ in the wrong fucking direction, dumbass,” MacCready snapped. “Take a hike.” He didn’t believe a word of it - this man didn’t ‘just so happen’ to see this shack and decided to stop. If that were the case he wouldn’t have bothered knocking. If he was lying about that, it meant the likelihood of him actually being an innocent settler was next to zero. 

“Aw, come on man,” The doorknob turned and MacCready fired a warning shot from  _ Deliverer _ into the frame. It didn't sound quite as threatening as he would have liked - the bullet was fired from a  _ silenced _ pistol, after all - but it did stop the man from barging in. MacCready should have locked the door.

“What part of ‘piss off’ do you not understand, scavver?” MacCready yelled. “If you really want this place I’ll be gone in the morning. If you want my shit you’ll have to take it off my dead body.” 

“I ain’t a raider! Promise.” The voice insisted. MacCready rolled his eyes. He stood up, careful to avoid the sightline of the windows as he rolled up his sleeping bag. So much for a few hours sleep, then. There was no way he could rest while this creep was stalking the house. While he packed up his bag in his secret cabinet, the not-raider continued talking. “Alright look, I’ll level with you, I’m not actually a traveler on my way to Diamond City.” Shocking. “I’m actually the leader of a super-secret underground rebellion and, get this, I want  _ you _ to join us.”

“Awesome,” MacCready said. “Send some of your guys up to Nuka World and they can talk to my boss about it, see how he feels about the idea.” He crept across the house, looking for the loose panel in back that made for an excellent escape route when cornered. 

“See, that’s just the thing,  _ Robert _ ,” MacCready paused when he heard his name, fingers resting on the flap of plywood, “it’s kinda your ‘boss’ we have a problem with. And I’m willing to bet you aren’t exactly President of his fan club either, are you?” 

MacCready could hear his heartbeat. He knew he should just duck out and make his escape, let this idiot talk to himself while MacCready put a good mile and a half between them. And yet there he sat, frozen in place like a moron listening to the guy's bullshit.

“That get your attention?” The voice said, and MacCready wracked his brain to think of where he’d heard this guy's voice before. “Look, let's just talk. I’m on your side, I promise. We can keep you safe from Nate. The guy is crazy powerful, but we think we have a pretty solid plan that might just make him a thing of the past.”

“Right, and let me guess, you need someone to play bait and lure the sick fuck back to the Commonwealth?” MacCready sneered. “That it,  _ Jaques _ ?” 

The man behind the door laughed. “Was that the name I came up with? Man, ever since I died I just can  _ not _ keep my personas straight.” Weird phrasing aside, at least the guy was admitting to being a liar rather than just adding on to the bill. It didn't matter either way - the last thing MacCready needed right now was  _ two _ immortal crazies tailing him. MacCready looked back at his make-shift escape hatch. “You can call me Deacon from now on - since we’re friends, you know?” 

“Right, got it,” MacCready said as he pulled the loose nail from the bottom of the plank and shimmed out through the back. He could hear ‘Deacon’ rambling on as he pulled himself through the hole and crept as quietly as he could through the bushes, pulling his rifle and handgun out behind him. Two scenarios came to mind - one, this was one of the Overboss’ informants come to spy on him and/or test his loyalty, or two, this guy was genuinely insane enough to think he had a chance of taking on the Overboss. As much as MacCready would love to stick it to the boss and send him back to hell, he wasn’t about to risk being caught conspiring with some nut he met in the woods. 

And, of course, there was always the chance that the guy was just a weirdo who’d been following MacCready around. Who knew? The only thing MacCready was sure of was that this was a waste of time that he couldn’t afford, not while the collar was still armed and wrapped around his neck. 

MacCready made his way through the dilapidated backyard, hopping the fence to take flight into the woods. Behind him, he heard ‘Deacon’ shout as he wised up to MacCready’s escape. MacCready sprinted towards the forest, hoping to disappear into the treeline before he was caught. There was a sharp  _ crack _ of rifle fire and MacCready’s shoulder exploded in pain. He stumbled, hitting the ground with his knees but recovered in time to keep going. Warmth radiated from the injury and trickled down his back. He felt shrapnel dig into his shoulder as he ran, clutching his arm to his chest in order to keep the muscle from moving around the insertion. 

His flight took on new urgency now. ‘Deacon’ went from being an annoyance to a threat, and MacCready wasn’t going to let himself be gunned down by some random asshole in the middle of nowhere, even if being shot was, admittedly, less painful than he recalled. He chalked that up to the adrenaline spiking in his system.

MacCready dodged and weaved through the trees, stumbling in the dark now that the moon was hidden behind a thick expanse of branches and sparse leaves. MacCready knew there was a river nearby where he might be able to lose his pursuer, but it would take him farther away from the train station than he would like. MacCready could just barely hear the footsteps behind him, tracking him down like a shot and bleeding animal. He turned a sharp corner and stopped before he ran straight into a hulking figure clutching a rifle. 

“Freeze! Don’t move!!” The words were echo-y and mechanical, said through a speaker on a suit of power armor. MacCready found himself face-to-chest with a full suit of X-01 power armor staring him down. The laser rifle he'd seen was now aimed at his chest. MacCready panted as he assessed the situation. The safety light on the gun shined brightly in the middle of the dark forest and It took only a moment to realize that the soldier didn’t want to shoot him. Good thing that wasn’t an affliction he and MacCready shared. MacCready raised his pistol and shot the man, once in the arm and twice in the visual plating of his helmet. The man in the armor shouted, uninjured but caught off guard and momentarily blinded. It gave MacCready the out he needed as he weaved around the soldier and broke into a full sprint, his own rifle bobbing painfully against his wounded shoulder as it jolted on his back. 

MacCready slid down the side of a hill, just barely catching himself by clawing the wet earth behind him as he went. The movement jostled something in his shoulder and MacCready yelled, alerting the two or more men chasing him of exactly where he was. He bit down on the sleeve of his shirt, forcing himself to be quiet while he coped with the pain by breathing through his nose in soft whimpers. Soon the noise around him died off into his own choked breathing and the rushing of the river somewhere nearby.

In the quiet he heard two voices - the man in power armor and ‘Deacon’ were arguing. There was a third sound - footsteps, not far away, to his right. MacCready darted towards the sound of water, praying that he was where he thought he was. For once, luck was on his side, and MacCready dashed towards the convertible that had somehow ended up thrown into the middle of the woods when the bombs fell. The old thing was camouflaged well; even during the day it was hard to make out behind the vines and bushes growing all around. MacCready threw his handgun into the rotted pleather seats and used his good arm to lift himself into the back, crouching down so that he couldn’t be seen.

“Hey, come on out!” A new voice rang through the woods. “We just want to talk.” The voice had an accent that MacCready recognized from talking with some of the triggermen ghouls from before the war. They were from a pre-war city called Chicago - it was a place they made sound a lot like the post-war Commonwealth, except cold. MacCready barely breathed as he stayed crouched in his hiding spot. 

MacCready spotted the figure as he emerged clumsily from between the trees, tripping and swearing as his trench coat caught on the branches of a hubflower bush. He yanked himself free and looked around the clearing. MacCready ducked down, watching the figure through the centuries-old car door mirrors.

“Look, I know that Deacon can be a bit of a pain in the ass,” The figure tried to bargain with the unseen MacCready, “but I promise, we’re not here to hurt you. We want to help.” He had a friendly voice, despite the off-sound to his tones that reminded MacCready of hearing someone speak on an old holotape. Still, the voice was soothing in a strange way; MacCready felt the rate of his heartbeat go down just a little as he spoke. 

“Hello? You still out there?” The shadowed man said, swiveling his head to scan the clearing. After only a few seconds of searching he leaned his back against a tree and reached into his pocket. “Damn… lost him.” The man muttered to himself. MacCready squinted his eyes to see what the figure was doing in the darkness. He saw something long and white glint in the moonlight between the man’s bone-thin fingers. A cigarette. MacCready was more focused on how someone’s fingers could be so narrow when his shadowy finger sparked a light in his other hand.

The sight, illuminated by the flickering flame, was like something straight out of a nightmare. 

His friendly Chicago man turned out to be a generation two synth, complete with a wiry metal hand and silicone skin. That alone would have been enough to make MacCready’s heart skip a beat, but the image that struck a dagger of fear directly into his soul was its face. The top half was that of a normal, human male - if a bit too pale to be entirely human - but the bottom half of its face was stripped bare, revealing a wide row of endlessly smiling teeth and sharp metal bones. A monster. It looked like death incarnate, and MacCready couldn’t stop himself as he choked on a primal, terrified gasp. 

The synth stopped, lighter hovering in front of the cigarette. Its eyes caught the mirror and looked directly at MacCready, noticing him and the car buried in weeds for the first time. “ _ Shit!” _ The synth hissed, snubbing out the cigarette on the tree behind him.  _ “ _ Wait!  _ Stop!" _

MacCready did neither. He was forced to abandon his pistol in his desperate scramble from the back seat. Thankfully, the rifle remained loyally strapped to his back as he took off, outpacing the run-down old machine with sheer human determination and panic. It seemed that the noise had alerted the rest of the search party, because MacCready heard footsteps all around him, tracking him down. 

He was running out of options fast - the only thing he could think to do was make a dash for the river and hope that Deacon - and the synth had confirmed the man’s name - couldn’t swim. Power armor doesn't float and the synth looked far from waterproof, leaving Deacon as his only possible aquatic threat. MacCready kept up his pace, ignoring the sound of his name being shouted behind him. He wouldn’t stop - he couldn’t. He had to get back to the Overboss by morning. He could feel the armed collar bounce around his neck as he ran. 

MacCready’s shoulder had gone completely numb, and that numbness was spreading to his legs. He just needed to make it a little further. He wasn’t a good swimmer on the best of days, but MacCready could float, and that would be all he needed to get away from his pursuers. The current would carry him down south and then he would just have to sprint back across the Commonwealth and make it to Nuka World before the bomb went off. 

His plan was shattered when a hand snatched MacCready’s arm and yanked it behind his back. He fell to his knees with the  _ thud _ , kicked into a kowtow where he was held down by a pair of thick leather gloves. MacCready struggled, but there was no breaking the other person's hold. He turned his head to the side, straining his eyes to see who it was on top of him. It was neither Deacon, nor the synth, nor the guy in power armor. On top of him knelt a man wearing a ballistic-fiber-and-black-leather jacket that he had only seen on one other man before - a courser’s uniform.

At first, MacCready thought that it might be the Overboss come to rescue him from enemy clutches. That idea was smothered quickly when the man - the synth - the  _ courser _ holding him down spoke. 

“I’ve immobilized the target,” The courser shouted without any inflection. “Location is approximately ten meters north of the Charles River.”

MacCready saw the synth holding him down more clearly now. He was built sturdy - likely in the literal sense. He had dark skin and eyes that managed to be piercing even in the dead of night. A painful-looking scar stood out on his neck, the skin bubbling up over a poorly healed slash that caught his throat from ear to ear.

“Good work, synth,” The metallic sound of the man in power armor came around from somewhere nearby. MacCready continued to thrash under the courser’s solid hold, but he was losing strength fast. He was exhausted, even more so than he should be after a life-or-death dash. He felt like he’d been drugged again. 

“Jesus, X6, let the poor kid up,” The accented voice of the other, less human-like synth came from behind them. “I don’t think he’s in any shape to outrun all of us.”

“No. The target is still a flight risk. You would be surprised what those who are desperate are capable of,” The cold voice above him somehow sounded more robotic than that of the literal android next to him. MacCready’s struggles had faded to little more than frantic twitches and breathy yells.

“Yeah, I’m with Nick, Eighty-eight,” The irritating voice of Deacon finally joined the group. “I had this totally under control. Check the guy's back - I'm pretty sure I nailed him with a dart between the shoulder blades." Footsteps beside MacCready's head. A man crouched down beside him and yanked out the needle embedded in MacCready's left shoulder. Deacon held it up triumphantly. "See! Told you. Under control."

"Yes, you did indeed manage to hit the target," The Courser conceded. "However, said target was on a direct course for the river. He was likely attempting to evade capture by swimming across, where he would have drowned when the anesthetic you dosed him with took effect. Had I not intercepted him this mission would have ended in catastrophic failure." Somehow, he managed to make his voice sound smug without changing inflections.

Deacon shrugged. "So -  _ mostly _ under control."

"I thought our objective was to recover the target  _ alive _ ," the courser stated, "otherwise this ridiculous mission could have ended twenty minutes ago when we first tracked him down."

"Mission parameters have not changed, courser," the man in the power armor said warningly. "You are still not to harm the objective. Furthermore, I demand that you cease your restraint, as such force has become unnecessary. Our target appears to have been thoroughly sedated."

"Understood," The hands came off MacCready's back but he couldn't bring himself to move for several seconds. He could barely hear or understand what was happening around him. MacCready gasped and he found himself struggling to push himself up off the ground. A silicon hand helped pull him up so he was sitting in an easier-to-breathe (and far more dignified) position. 

"You alright?" The Gen-two synth asked. It had turned the collar of its coat up so that the disfiguring scar marring the lower half of its face was covered, making it possible for MacCready to look at the broken-down thing without falling into pure panic. 

"B-Bo… Bom…" MacCready panted, finding it harder and harder to focus. 

"I warned you that by taking the lead on this mission you would increase the likelihood of failure," X6 said to Deacon. "This is what exactly what happens when the surface-dwelling scum tries to execute any form of complex plan."

"Hey, my plan was a success," Deacon snapped back at the courser. "We got MacCready, and, bonus! He's still alive!! Yay Deacon, you're so great." Deacon crossed his arms. "Besides, wasn't it  _ your _ intel that said there wasn't any other way out of that house besides the front door?" 

Meanwhile, the metal synth was leaning in closer to MacCready and ignoring the others to listen to the man clinging to consciousness. "What were you saying?"

"I ha… I have a… a bo… a bom…" MacCready was speaking just barely above a whisper. He couldn't catch his breath, but whatever he was saying it felt important. It was something these guys needed to hear. 

"It's too early to celebrate," the voice in the power armor rang. "We still don't know if the civilian will be willing to assist us in our cause. He may still be loyal to Nate."

"Trust me," Deacon chuckled. "with what that fucker's been puttin' him through, MacCready has  _ got _ to hate him. He'd probably shoot that bastard's head off himself if we'd let him."

"Come on, kid, you gotta speak up if you want me to hear you," the synth was leaned in close, and for the first time, MacCready noticed that its eyes didn't glow like the others of his kind. Huh. Weird. 

"Bomb…" MacCready muttered, eyes fluttering shut. 

"He's manipulative," Power Armor warned. "Recall that Nate was able to infiltrate the three major factions of the Commonwealth and collapse them from the inside."

"Four, if you count the Minutemen," Deacon grumbled. 

"I  _ was _ counting the Minutemen," Power Armor said pointedly. Deacon wrinkled his nose. 

"Bomb? What bomb?" Nick asked the merc, who was fading fast. 

"You know, The Railroad may not have  _ seemed _ that influential, but the fact that you airborne zealots didn't notice us is actually a testament to just how dedicated our spy network was!"

"With the sloppy way I've observed you operate, it is a wonder your organization was able to survive at all, much less cause the caliber of problems that it did," X6 mumbled. 

"Aw, the Institute noticed us? How sweet." 

_ "Would you three shut the hell up for five minutes???"  _ Nick snapped, gathering the attention (and the cooperative silence) of his co-conspirators. Deacon mumbled a quick 'he started it', but other than that, all focus was on MacCready as he fought for consciousness. Nick turned back to the downed man. "Now, what's all this about a bomb?" 

MacCready used the last of his strength to reach up and yank at his jacket, revealing the blinking lights of the slave collar around his neck. Meaningful silence stretched between the group of five, and MacCready was finally free to blackout to the sound of Deacon's dismayed voice calling out

"Oooh. shit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehehe and there they are! The rest of the cast in the tags. To those of you who've been waiting for them to show up since the beginning, thanks for sticking around! Your patience has not been in vain.


	16. Defusing the Situation

"Hand me the magnification lens. I believe with a few minor adjustments the collar should come off. However, I will be unable to defuse the bomb without the use of more precise tools."

"That's fine. I'm telling you - I've seen tons of those things. Like, probably hundreds. They only go off when the guy wearing them gets out of range. We'll be  _ fine _ ."

"And I would be inclined to agree with your assessment, _if_ it were not for the modified components and internal clock I found embedded in the circuitry. It is quite fascinating that such a device was created without the aid of Institute technology."

"How can you even tell what that stuff is? It all looks like junk to me."

"I would not expect someone of your mental standing to comprehend the complexity of advanced technological engineering."

"Man, Carrington would have  _ loved _ to meet you."

"I doubt anyone in your organization would have been pleased to meet a courser. Now go get another dose for our subject here - I believe he is regaining consciousness again."

"Uh, yeah, about that - remember how I said I brought three darts?" 

"Yes?" 

"And recall, if you would, that you asked me two times to 'dose him'? And remember how I used  _ one _ to shoot him down? Well, if we apply simple addition to the problem-"

"There exist shorter ways to say you do not have any more darts, you know," A sigh. "Restrain him. I believe he will attempt to resist when the paralysis wears off."

"Roger that!"

MacCready snapped back to himself with a jolt as a set of muscled arms wrapped around his chest from behind, pinning him down to a reclined chair. He tried to throw his head, but found it held tight by a pair of strong, leather-gloved hands. He fought to get his eyes open, but his vision was blurred. MacCready realized suddenly that he wasn’t breathing and had to gasp to get enough air. 

“Do not move your head,” The warning voice of the courser came from above him. MacCready strained to pull his eyes back far enough to see the synth with the cut-throat scar looming over him. “I am working to remove the collar - with the circuits exposed like this even the slightest twitch could set it off. So for the sake of everyone in the room, please try to avoid any excess movements."

It felt nearly impossible to move anyways. MacCready’s chest rose and fell dramatically as he remained pinned by the two men. When he had proven himself to be either still paralyzed or not suicidal, the arms around his middle came up and the face of a man in sunglasses came into view.

“Morning there, MacCready,” Deacon said. “Sorry about the scare - didn’t realize you would be awake just yet.”

“Wh-what?” MacCready said, still searching for his voice, or at the very least a deep breath. This wasn’t like any high MacCready had ever experienced - it wasn’t even similar to the time the Overboss had spiked his drink. It was like a waking nightmare. The shadows were creeping towards him and he couldn’t get himself to breathe properly. 

“He is going to asphyxiate himself if he continues like that,” The courser - X6 was what they called him, right? - said. “I suggest you continue using the pump before he experiences respiratory failure.”

Deacon moved and MacCready found his mouth covered by a plastic cup before he could react. He tried to shake his head to get it off of him, resulting in X6 violently pressing down on his neck.

“What did I say about moving your head?” He said in a perfect, authoritative monotone. MacCready heard a loud  _ click _ from behind him, like plastic snapping in half, and the collar twitched around him. 

The cup was fastened around his mouth once more and a burst of air hit his lungs. He coughed, forced to adjust his breathing to the speed at which air was being forced into him. MacCready felt pin and needles dart across his face. He closed his eyes as his breathing stabilized. 

When the mask came away again MacCready found some of the strength needed to continue breathing on his own. He eyed Deacon wearily, not fully cognizant yet but knowing deep down that he was completely at the mercy of this man and his constituents. He could see his reflection in the mirrored sunglasses that hid Deacon's eyes. 

“Feeling better?” Decon asked, then immediately added. “Don’t answer that. You’re doing great - just, uh, keep breathing and sit tight. We’ll have that thing off your neck before you know it.”

MacCready felt sweat pool around his neck as he came back to his senses. His name was MacCready, he was twenty-four years old, he had a son named Duncan who he’d just divorced himself from, he was on his way back to Nuka-World when he was ambushed, he was in a hurry because-

MacCready’s eyes widened and he twitched again, trying and failing to sit upright. The courser behind him made a displeased noise and Deacon seemed to be debating restraining him again. MacCready’s heart pounded in his chest as he struggled to speak. 

“Bom… bomb…” He managed, eyes closed in strain. 

“We know, buddy,” Deacon said sympathetically, “We’re workin’ on it.”

MacCready tried to shake his head, but X6 had him pinned with one hand wrapped around his forehead while the courser dug a screwdriver into the collar with the other. “No… It… it's timed… only a few hours left... sunrise...,” MacCready could feel his chest seizing up again as his lungs struggled against whatever drug had paralyzed them. 

“Are you attempting to inform us that the bomb is on a timer that is set to go off at sunrise today?” X6 asked him. There was something smug about the way he said it, and Deacon looked as if the fact MacCready had given was a personal insult. “We are aware - or rather,  _ I  _ was aware. I am doing my best under the circumstances to remove the collar. Your cooperation will only enhance our chances of survival.”

MacCready swallowed, the motion revealing that the muscles in his throat were also slow to respond. He relaxed back into the chair as X6 picked away at the wires and circuitry that made up his collar. His chest rose and fell in staggered, uneven breaths.

“Shit… how close do you think it is to sunrise?” Deacon asked, running a hand through his obvious wig. 

“It does not matter,” X6 said. “The information cannot assist in removing the collar, therefore it’s best we do not know.”

“I’d kinda like to know if we’re gonna blow up, if it’s all the same to you,” Deacon said.

“If you are doubting my abilities then you are free to wait outside with the others,” X6 said. “I believe our subject is perfectly capable of breathing on his own now.” 

As if to prove him wrong, MacCready’s lungs gave out again and Deacon had to scramble to get the mask over his lips and pump oxygen back into the semi-conscious man. The more aware MacCready became the more terrified he was. The reality that he might die any second now without any warning made hands shake. There was barely any light in the room and no windows in sight. How much longer did they have? X6 seemed fairly confident in his ability to get the collar off in time, but what if he couldn’t? What if they ran out of time and the bomb went off, taking MacCready (and, by extension, everyone else in the room) out in a blinding flash. At least it would be quick, he hoped. 

When the mask came off his face MacCready's breathing had reversed course and he was now on the verge of hyperventilation, panicked tears flowing down his face as he muttered swears and assertions of their imminent doom. 

"Oh God, oh shit, I'm gonna die, I don't want to die like this," MacCready couldn't help the words as they fell out of his mouth, followed by a short, manic burst of laughter and full body shakes. "fuck, fuck fuck  _ shit _ I don't want to die. I don't want to die…" 

“Uh, hey…” Deacon said. He seemed uncomfortable standing over the delirious, shaking merc pinned down on the chair. “It’s… It’s probably gonna be fine. Eighty here said he’s done this before a bunch of times, and he’s still alive, so that means he’s probably never screwed up too bad before.”

“In the past I have been successful in most instances where an explosive collar had to be removed from an escaped synth,” X6 said. The addition of ‘most’ in that sentence was less than comforting to the other two people in the room. 

“What do you mean you were successful in 'most instances'? Exactly how are you not in a bunch of bloody chunks if you fucked up something like that?” Deacon asked. MacCready continued his anxious, half-cognisant muttering. 

“We’re gonna fucking die, shit,  _ shit _ , I don’t wanna die here,” He whined. 

There was a sound across the room. A door opening and heavy footsteps walking across the room.

“Is the collar off yet?” It was the voice from the power armor, only now it was perfectly clear and coming from a man in a tee-shirt and jeans striding across the room.

“Hey, Danse,” Deacon said, a nervous lit to his voice. “About how close to sunrise do you think it is?” 

The man looked confused as he answered. “It’s dawn. The sun isn’t up yet but-” Danse’s gaze fell on MacCready, who had gone from trembling to full-blown panic at Danse’s words. “Is he alright?” 

“So, turns out X6 was right about the timer and we got until the sun comes up to get this thing off before we all go out in a mushroom cloud,” Deacon informed the newcomer. Danse’s brow furrowed, thinking on the new information. While he processed, MacCready panicked. 

“Be still,” X6 said firmly, craning MacCready’s neck down as the man tried to scramble his way out of the chair. 

“Get off, get off,  _ get the fuck off of me you fucking synth,” _ MacCready snapped, struggling against the strong grip of the courser. X6 was forced to abandon his tool to grasp MacCready’s head with both hands and hold him down. Deacon rushed back over and helped the courser restrain their involuntary subject. MacCready struggled senselessly with no other goal than to escape, as if that would somehow prevent the collar around his neck from ending his life in the next few minutes. 

“Civilian, we need you to calm down. I promise, we are doing everything we can to keep you safe,” Danse’s voice rang over the din of MacCready’s collapsing mind. For some reason, the voice grounded him. He could almost believe what Danse was saying. MacCready’s exhausted thrashing died down and he met the gaze of the other man, panting. “Good. Remain still so that X6-88 can work on the collar.”

MacCready nodded and the two sets of hands holding him down left. The courser picked back up the fallen screwdriver and set to work pulling at the wires and undoing the mess of explosives and circuitry. His breathing wasn't quite back to normal, mostly because he was still stuck picturing his own firey death when the bomb inevitably went off. 

"You need to breathe," Danse said to him. "If you can, hold your breath for just a second, then exhale slowly."

MacCready followed the instructions, focusing totally on his own breathing and the man in front of him. His eyes were stuck to the imposing figure of Danse, watching him as though he were the only thing protecting him from the other two men in the room suddenly deciding to tear MacCready apart. 

“Do you know where you are?” Danse asked, crouching down so that he was at eye level with MacCready. MacCready started to shake his head, then recalled the courser’s warning about neck movements. He swallowed.

“No,” He said, voice far weaker than he would like. 

“You are in an outpost just east of Walden Pond. We have been using it as a rendezvous point for our operatives in the northeast,” Danse explained. “There are four of us here - Deacon, X6-88, Nick, and myself. We are doing our best to get you out of your current situation unharmed, do you understand?”

MacCready suppressed his urge to nod and responded. “Yes.”

“Good,” Danse said, giving MacCready a confident smile. “Just keep breathing, we’ll get you through this.” He paused, then asked, “Can you give me your name?” 

It was an odd question, since he almost certainly Danse already knew it. Still, MacCready didn’t hesitate to answer. “MacCready.” 

“It’s nice to meet you, MacCready. My name is Danse, I am a former Paladin of the Brotherhood of Steel.” He said it as though the information might give MacCready some sense of comfort or trust. MacCready screwed up his mouth but managed to keep his opinions on the organization to himself. The ‘former’ part of Danse’s title was interesting since the way he introduced himself was still aligned with his Brotherhood identity. If they all survived this MacCready would have to find a polite way to ask about that. 

MacCready was breathing normally now, and his eyes fluttered as he felt a wave of chem-induced exhaustion come over him. 

“Well damn, Danse,” Deacon chuckled from beside him. “I had no idea you were good with kids.”

“He’s hardly a child,” Danse said, sounding annoyed, “and I don’t see why my reaction was so surprising to you; part of my duty was training recruits and initiating non-hostile contact with local settlements.”

“Huh, didn't know the Brotherhood did 'non-hostile contact'.” Deacon bantered. Danse glared and MacCready chuckled, momentarily forgetting the circlet of death around his neck.

“Got it,” There was a soft click and the weight around MacCready’s neck suddenly vanished. He sat up, rubbing his neck as X6-88 held up the collar to show to the group.

“Excellent work,” Danse said, rising to his feet again. 

“Uh, is it just me, or does that thing look less than ‘disarmed’?” Deacon asked, pointing at the still-blinking light on the bulge of the collar. 

“That would be because it has not been disarmed,” X6 said as he carefully placed the collar down on a table beside the make-shift operating chair. “I was able to shut off the tension trigger, however, the bomb and timer cannot be removed without risk of accidental detonation.” 

“So in other words, we need to go, like, right now,” Deacon said, already helping MacCready to stand on legs that wobbled like a newborn radstag. MacCready tried for barely a second to stand on his own; he was caught by Danse and Deacon and ended up half-carried by the two men as he staggered his way out of the building. 

MacCready caught sight of the synth from before (Nick, as the others called it) standing by the door with a submachine gun clasped between its hands. It locked eyes with MacCready for a moment - its horror show of a mouth was covered up by a scarf wrapped around its neck and jaw, lending it a more human-like appearance. Deacon caught the synth up on the situation as the group hurried away from the building, which MacCready quickly realized was actually an old sewage tunnel. 

They made it out to the boggy run-off of Walden pond when the bomb detonated. The explosion shook the ground like an earthquake. Dirt and cement vomited from the ground where the underground base had been in a plume of carnage. The sound rattled through his very core as MacCready sunk to his knees, his pair of supports diving for cover. He ended up face first in a puddle of water, unable to pull himself back up. Thankfully a metal hand grabbed him by the back of his duster before he could breathe in too much water. 

“Everyone alright?” The synth asked as it helped a coughing MacCready back to his feet. He ended up with his arm slung around the metal-man’s shoulder as he sputtered and struggled to wipe away the muck that stuck to his face. 

“I think so,” Deacon’s voice rang out. “Jesus. Nate wasn’t fucking around with that one.”

“No, he was not,” X6 agreed. The two looked back on the mess of carnage and destruction brought on by the device that had been strapped to MacCready not ten minutes before. “I suppose this lends credence your theory, then," the courser addressed Deacon. "Either his affinity for this one is either exceptionally high, or he has already been made aware of our plans.”

“Heh, score one point for me,” Deacon said, rummaging through the reedy water in search of the pistol that had fallen from his pocket during the explosion. 

“We should get moving,” Danse said as the group pulled itself back together. “That explosion was large enough to attract attention. It is unlikely that Nate has managed to deal with the crisis back at Nuka World yet, but if he finds out we’ve managed to rescue his latest companion now we’ll lose the element of surprise.” 

“Crisis?” MacCready slurred, head fuzzier than ever. “What Crisis?”

“We’ll update you once as we’re back at headquarters,” Deacon said. “There’s a whole lotta shit you missed while you were out running through the ‘wealth.” 

MacCready nodded along with the non-answer if only because he didn’t know if he could stay conscious for an explanation right then. His eyes drooped and he sagged, putting more and more of his weight onto the synth holding him up. It staggered as MacCready felt the muscles in his legs start to give and darkness overcame the light pouring from the barely-visible sunrise. 

“Uh, guys? I think he’s going to-” The synth didn’t manage to finish its sentence before it lost its grip on MacCready, who fell into the mud with a wet  _ thunk _ . 

MacCready’s head swam, the stress and struggle of the last 48 hours finally getting the better of him. He knew it was probably rude to blackout now, considering the extra burden it would put on the people who had just saved his life, but he could hardly bring himself to care. The last thing MacCready heard before being pulled under fully was Deacon’s declaration of “I ain’t carryin’ him all the way to the Castle.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this one was a little shorter than usual. To make up for it, I'll be quick about posting the next chapter. After this we'll finally get some backstory on Nate's time in the Commonwealth and oh boy, did that boy get up to some shit...


	17. His Time in the Commonwealth I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for the backstory chapters! There are going to be three in total - I'm going to try to release them all really quickly as not to break up the flow of things. Really, they're all meant to be one chapter, but that one chapter would be 20,000 words long LOL. I might end up re-releasing this as its own fic as a 'prequel' to this one, we'll see
> 
> as always, please enjoy! :D

_ Preston had known there was something off about his new friend. He liked to believe the best in everyone despite his many, many lessons to the contrary. His infallible minutemen had been whittled down to the last man, betrayed at every turn by the harsh, unforgiving wasteland. He had thought he had reached the end of his story, back against the wall, raiders ready to break down the door - and then along came Nate. _

“Nate, what the  _ hell _ was that?” Preston snapped, marching up to stand beside his friend. Nate stood over a pair of bleeding settlers whose lives had long since been ended by the pistol loosely clutched in Nate's hands. Nate was staring down a third man, whose fingers were wrapped around his mouth, reeling in shock at the sight of his dead comrades. The rain pattered down around them, soaking them all and leaving Nate’s long hair slicked against his back.

Nate looked at Preston, a warm smile on his face as he waved to greet him. The gun in his hand was still warm from the shots that had ended the couple at his feet. “Hey, Preston! I didn’t know you were out here.”

_ At the time, Preston had been too relieved to question the look of elation on Nate’s face as he slaughtered his way through a platoon of raiders. Preston found death in all its forms distasteful, but it wasn’t as though his hands were clean. As much as he tried to avoid it, there were people who just would not let others go without a fight to the death, and part of being a Minuteman meant shooting down those who were only looking for more violence and bloodshed. Nate had just saved their lives, so far be it from Preston to judge him if he was a little too enthusiastic about killing a couple of raiders here and there.  _

“You killed them…” The man on the ground murmured, eyes still glued to the corpses of his former friends as the rain splattered mud on their still open eyes. “Oh my god… you- you  _ killed  _ them.” 

Nate frowned, looking back down at the man. “If I hadn’t killed them they would have shot you, you know that right?” He chastised the man in a far too callous tone. Preston grit his teeth. “You should be thanking me.”

The man on the ground seemed to falter with his words, looking at Nate as if he might just shoot him out of sheer annoyance. In his defense, Preston wondered the same thing. 

_ It was really unlike him to be  _ this  _ wrong about a person. There were times when Preston would mistake a group of thieves for well-meaning settlers, or sometimes he would talk down a group of raiders only to end up being shot at the moment his back was turned. But lately, it seemed like everyone he trusted ended up being some sort of monster. First, there was Clint, who turned his back on the minutemen only to end up a part of the very gang they were fighting against - now it was Nate, a man Preston thought was his friend. _

Preston stepped between Nate and the other man after a moment, unable to predict what his supposed-friend would do next. The man - Jules, he had said his name was - relaxed just a fraction now that he was being guarded. Nate rolled his eyes. 

“Don’t be so dramatic, Garvey, he’s a synth,” Nate said. “He got outed to his buddies and they were trying to put a bullet in him. I decided to step in and help.” Preston narrowed his eyes. 

“I know, I saw the whole thing,” Preston said. 

_ Despite everything, Nate had managed to charm Preston. He was a bit like a kid - having just woken up from 200 years on ice with barely any memories intact. It made him the perfect blank slate to imprint the values of the minutemen onto. Perhaps it was a bit manipulative, but Preston knew it was the right choice. Even though amnesia had stolen most of his life, Nate still held on to incredible talents with guns and knives and endurance like he'd never seen before. Preston brought Nate on several of his missions, helping settlements and clearing out raiders who were threatening innocent people. Nate was ruthless in combat, yet managed to have a softer spoken side to himself that made people want to trust him. He was the perfect candidate to become the next general and lead the minutemen back from the brink of obscurity.  _

_ Except… _

“Then why are you so upset, I don’t get it?” Nate said. His tone was like a toddler after being scolded and hearing the sound from a grown man unsettled Preston greatly. 

“It didn’t have to end that way,” Preston said. “I’ve seen the way you talk to people - you could have easily convinced them to walk away, Nate. Why did you kill them?” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” Nate asked, crossing his arms. Preston’s jaw dropped at the audacity of the statement. 

_ While Nate was good with words, it seemed he rarely wanted to actually talk his way out of a fight. In fact, when given the choice, Nate almost always chose violence rather than peace. It was helpful when fighting raiders and gunners, but his thirst for violence became far more problematic when the infamous gray line appeared. Preston had watched as Nate put a bullet between the eyes of a young man who had made the mistake of joining up with raiders in hopes of providing for his family. Nate hadn’t even tried to talk the kid down before reaching for his gun. Even at the time, Preston couldn’t shake the feeling that something about the whole exchange was  _ wrong _. _

“Nate, goddamnit, you are a _Mi_ _ nuteman _ !” Preston snapped. He stepped forward harshly, splashing through puddles so that he stood mere inches away from the other man. Nate, still seeming confused, cocked his head to the side. “Do you even remember what that means? We are servants of the people -  _ all _ people. You can’t just go around solving all your problems by  _ shooting them _ .”

“And again I ask - why. not?” Nate said slowly, as if Preston was the one acting irrational. “Killing two assholes threatening an innocent synth doesn’t seem that far out of line from the Minutemen code.”

“They didn’t have to die,” Preston said, voice wavering. Droplets of water pooled at the brim of his hat, falling down out of time with the rest of the rain. He was desperate to make this man understand, desperate to see in Nate what he’d seen when they first met. But there was nothing in those eyes that stared back at him. No kindness, no mercy, no soul behind the blue irises that looked him over, as if calculating the best placement for a bullet in his skull. 

_ And yet, even as doubts began to overcome all other thoughts, Preston found himself alone with Nate at the end of the day, laughing with him, drinking with him. Nate never seemed to be able to get drunk, which made him fun to have around at bars. Preston’s heart would flutter every time the man’s hand would brush his, or when he saw Nate dive in front of him to take a bullet so Preston could keep firing. Preston had gone most of his life without falling in love - he had dedicated himself so fully to his cause, the thought of romance just never appeared for him like it did for others. Was this what it was like to have a crush? When he had drunkenly pecked Nate on the lips after their first successful recruitment, had that meant something? When Nate took his hand while they were alone and walking through the Commonwealth, did that mean he liked him? _

_ Was this what it was like to be in love? _

Was this what it was like to have your heart broken?

The silence stretched between them, the only sound was that of the rain splattering against accumulating puddles. Finally, Preston couldn’t bear to look at Nate anymore. He turned around, offering a hand to the traumatized synth who was still shivering under his soaked jacket. 

“I- I swear- I’m not with the Institute,” He said as he took Preston’s hand. “Please,  _ please _ believe me. I just want to get to Bunker Hill.”

“It’s alright, I believe you,” Preston said, forcing himself to smile. “The name’s Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen. We help people in trouble.”

“Jules,” The synth said with a nod. “I… I could use some directions, actually.”

“Sure thing,” Preston said. “There’s a settlement not too far from here. Let’s get out of the rain and we’ll see about getting you where you need to go.”

“Thanks,” He said. Jules threw one last look at his fallen comrades, a myriad of complex emotions crossing his face. Preston felt his heart clench. He knew what it felt like to be betrayed. 

“I’ll get someone to come by later and bury them,” He promised. “Do you have everything you need?” 

Jules nodded, shrugging the pack he’d been carrying on his shoulder. Preston gave him a reassuring nod and turned to lead the way. “Follow me.” 

Preston walked past Nate, managing to keep from meeting his eyes. He didn’t think he could stomach seeing him right then. Jules kept his head down, muttering a soft, hesitant ‘thanks’ to Nate as they passed.

“We’ll talk about this later,” Preston said, walking off towards Sunshine Tidings. He could imagine the irate look on the face of his fellow minuteman, he didn’t need to turn around to see it. 

It wasn’t until he heard the resounding  _ click _ of a 10mm gun being cocked that Preston turned around to face his murderer.

\---

_ When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. _

It was a dumb quote, but  _ damn _ if it wasn’t applicable here.

“Nate!” Nick called, stealing his voice. “We need to talk.” The raven-haired man looked up from the pot he had been stirring at his campsite. He was dressed in a sturdy flannel shirt, hair tied back with a string - he was the picture of an old-world survivalist out on a camping stint. Nate smiled when he saw the synth detective - his  _ friend _ .

“Nick,” He said, a pleasant ring to his voice, “Well isn’t this a surprise. I didn’t know you liked camping.” 

Nick felt something stir deep in that little part of him that still insisted he was human. Nate had an effect on people, and Nick knew he wasn’t immune. There wasn’t anything he wanted more than to just sit down with his friend and have a bowl of stew made from whatever wild creature Nate had picked off that day. Maybe this whole thing was ridiculous; Nate was odd, some would say a bit quicker to violence than the average wastelander - but he wasn’t a  _ murderer _ . Right? 

_ Whatever remains, however improbable... _

“This isn’t a friendly visit,” Nick said, eyes narrowed. He stood firm between the trees, hands at his sides. “I’m here on business.”

Nate cocked his head, expression genuine and confused. “You didn’t tell me you had another case come in,” Nate said.

“I didn’t,” Nick said. “This is something I’ve been working on alone.”

“I wish you would have told me,” Nate said, turning back to his soup to stir the pot before it boiled over. “What kind of partner would I be if I didn’t help you crack a case that has you this worked up?” 

“The kind who’s become my prime suspect,” Nick said. Nate had pulled the spoon up to his mouth to sample his creation. He lowered the spoon as he took in Nick’s accusation. 

“Prime suspect?” Nate said, brows knit. “What exactly are you accusing me of?”

“Cut the crap, Nate - I know you killed Piper,” Nick hissed. The words hung between the two for a long moment. The  _ pop pop pop _ of boiling water broke up the monotony of the windless day. Nate stared at Nick, Nick stared at Nate. 

“Well, I have to say,” Nate said, lowering his spoon back into the pot with a soft  _ ting _ , “that’s quite the accusation coming from someone I thought was my  _ friend _ .” The words stung, as did the harsh tone Nate said them in. Nick had to fight not to flinch. “I suppose you have some evidence to back up this claim that I murdered my girlfriend, right?” 

“I do,” Nick said grimly, “you know I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t damn sure it was you.” 

“Then by all means,” Nate said, crossing his legs and spreading his arms, “share with me.” 

Nick took a breath. He’d been preparing for this confrontation for hours. He still didn’t think he was ready. “Piper didn’t tell anyone where she was going the day she went missing,” Nick said, “not even her sister knew where she was.”

“I know,” Nate said, sounding impatient. “That’s why it took the city so long to find her remains.”

“But you see, the thing about that is,” Nicks said, “When they found Piper, there was a notepad and pencil in her pocket, as if she had gone out looking for a story.”

“She was dedicated to her work,” Nate mumbled, eyes staring at the autumn leaves on the ground. For all Nick saw, Nate looked exactly like the grieving boyfriend he claimed to be. The kind, accurate description of his late friend followed by the image of Nate appearing somber and dejected made Nick's mechanical mind whirl, but he soldiered on.

“That she was,” Nick nodded, “which was why she never left Diamond City without telling someone where she was going. What good’s a story if there’s no one to tell it, right?”

“I assumed it was something secret or sudden,” Nate said. “Something like a follow up on her story about the mayor now that he’s dead and confirmed to be an institute spy.” 

Nick grimaced. He would have to circle back to that later, since he was almost certain that Nate had been the one who 86’ed McDonough as well. “That’s what everyone assumed. Hell, even I thought that the poor girl had finally bitten off more than she could chew, maybe pushed one too many buttons with the Institute - but then I thought about it and something about the story I’d heard just didn’t jive.” 

“Oh?”

“See, the body was found with a notebook and a  _ pencil _ ,” Nick continued. “Now I’ve sat down to plenty of interviews with that girl over the years - not  _ once _ did I see her use anything other than a pen.”

“So that’s your evidence?” Nate said, unimpressed. “Piper switched up her writing utensil and suddenly you think I killed her.”

“No, of course not,” Nick said, “But the fact that you were the last person to see her alive does raise a few questions.” 

Nate narrowed his eyes. “Nick, you know that I was nowhere near Diamond City when she died. I was with you, tracking down those holotapes."

“No - you were nowhere near Diamond City when Piper was  _ presumed _ dead,” Nick clarified. 

“I don’t think I follow you here, Nick," Nate said. 

“I found her, Nate, ” Nick said, voice softer than intended. He felt his jaw lock up. If he were human he would have swallowed - the reflex was still there for him. He took a deep breath and continued. “She's in a bunker not far from the old drive-in. I found the  _ real _ Piper.”

It had been only a few hours prior that Nick found himself face-to-face with the body of his dear friend; there was no mistaking her face, slumped over an old-world desk with eyes still open. She hadn't been dead long - a couple of days, a week, maybe. If only he had been faster… the state of her body and room surrounding told him she'd been killed recently, at least within the past few days - which was a far cry from the near month-and-a-half that the city guards had presumed her deceased. When all of this was over with, Nick would go back and make sure she was buried properly. For now, he had to see justice through. 

“When the guards found what they thought was Piper's body, they couldn’t make out her face. The poor thing was filled with so many bullets and rotted to all hell, the only way they could identify who it was was by her clothes and the notepad planted on the body.” Nick said. "The Piper I found died about a week ago, around the very same time that the Guards found the fake Piper."

“So if I'm following you," Nate said, eyeing Nick with an unreadable expression, "you think someone kidnapped Piper, dressed some random body up in her clothes, and then, after the guards found what they thought was Piper's body, they killed her."

"Not someone, Nate, it was you. I know it was you," Nick said solemnly. 

"And why do you think that?" Nate spit. "What motivation could I possibly have to kill her?" He was clearly offended, which was fair enough considering the accusations - but if he really was the culprit as Nick suspected, then there was a disturbing amount of genuine indignation present in his eyes. Like a man whose perfect plan was being disrupted. 

"I don't know," Nick admitted. "No matter how much I think about it I can't say why you did it, but I do know is  _ how _ you did it."

"Enlighten me." Nate crossed his arms and glared. 

Nick ground his porcelain teeth. He hated every second this dragged on. "Everyone assumed McDonough's assassination was the work of the Institute, including Piper. She was worried that if the Institute had anyone to come after next, it would be her. Now she was fearless, and she'd put her life on the line to tell the people the truth more than once before, but Piper wasn't just worried about herself. It was  _ Nat _ she was really concerned for."

Nate's eyes twitched, following along the story. "So that's why she skipped town… You think she went into hiding."

"Exactly," Nick said. "When I went snooping around that bunker there weren't any scratch marks or signs that Piper had been trying to escape - hell, there was a spare key in her pocket that worked with the lock. It was a nice set up too; Piper had everything she needed to live down there for weeks - food, water, ammo, turrets. There was no way she managed to stock up all that alone. Piper did well for herself as a writer in a city, but not that well. She had help making herself disappear, someone she trusted more than anyone else, someone with the means to sponsor her little stay in the woods."

"And you think that person is me," Nate concluded. "And you think the person who helped her hide would be the same person who killed her, since no one else would have known where she was - ergo, you think I killed her."

"Bingo," Nick said. 

Nate sighed, slumping back against a tree. "Nick, as much as I admire your skills as a detective, the evidence you've provided is circumstantial." He said. "I won't deny that I have an overabundance of caps, and Piper trusted me more than just about anyone else, but you're still missing one key thing here -  _ why _ would I kill her? She was my  _ girlfriend _ ."

"And that's just what you were banking on, wasn't it?" Nick accused. "Why would anyone suspect you - the two of you were like a couple of sweethearts pulled straight from a 2050s romance flick. All you had to do was play the part of the grieving lover for a few days and then disappear for a little while."

Nate narrowed his eyes, expression soured and irate. He opened his mouth to argue, but Nick didn't want to hear it. "All that is beside the point. I don't need to know why you killed her. All I need is proof that you did," Nick said, "Hard evidence."

"Evidence that you do not have," Nate pointed out. 

"Not yet," Nick said, reaching into his coat pocket. He pulled out a key with a Vault Tech ornament attached to the chain. Covering the eyes of the tiny vault man was the number "2" stamped on in old-world ink. "This was the key I found in Piper's pocket. It's a copy, a spare, and I'm willing to bet that whoever did her in has the original." Nate snarled and Nick felt the place where his heart should be skipped. "It's been over a week since you've stopped by Sanctuary or any of the other settlements where you offload your crap. I checked. So you must still have the key on you-" 

"Nick, this is ridiculous," Nate said with a roll of his eyes. "Even if you don't find the key on me that won't prove my innocence."

"But if I do find it, it proves at the very least you lied when you said you didn't know where she was, and if that were the case then you should have known all along that body the guards found wasn't her," Nick said. 

The pair stared at each other, both knowing exactly how this would end yet neither wanting to initiate the final move. Soft sounds of woodland life filled in the gap in their standoff. Nick found his nerve after twenty full seconds and spoke. 

"Empty your pockets."

"This is stupid." 

"Turn out your pockets, Nate," Nick said, this time far more sternly. 

"It wasn't me!" He insisted. "Anyone could have killed her! She was hiding from the Institute after all-" 

Nick unholstered his gun. "Nate, don't make this more difficult than it has to be," He said, putting the wide-eyed man's head in his sights. "Just turn out your pockets, nice and slow."

Nate stared at Nick as if he had never seen the synth before in his life. If Nick hadn't destroyed their friendship before, this was likely the last straw. He didn't want what he said to be true, but part of him hoped to God he was right. He'd crossed a line here and he knew there was no going back if this was all just a mistake. Slowly, Nate's hand reached down into his jeans. He dug around in his right pocket for a moment before pulling his hand back out, fingers curled around something small. Nate opened his palm to reveal a keychain labeled '#1' over a Vault Man fob. 

Nick lowered his gun, opening his hand to accept the damning key from Nate. There was no denying it now. Even if the keychain was some sort of astronomically improbable coincidence, Nick's optical sensors were sensitive enough to detect every groove in the key's body - it was identical to the one Nick had found on Piper. He looked between the metal object and his supposed-friend, waiting for an explanation. In spite of everything, Nick silently begged for Nate to prove him wrong. 

_ Come on, Nate, work with me here _ , Nick thought.  _ Tell me I'm wrong. Give me an explanation, something I don't know, something obvious I've overlooked. Give me some new evidence, some new lead - promise to help me find whoever killed Piper and bring them to justice. Just please, don’t be you. _

Nate continued to stare at Nick, expression unreadable. His anger he’d shown before had died off into an almost calm, pestered look. Silence dragged on between them for a full eighty-four seconds, the numbers ticking up in the back of Nick’s head. Finally, Nate’s shoulders dropped, and the thin line of his mouth fell into a disgusted frown.

“Really? You couldn’t have waited, like, a month before doing this?” 

Nick was struck by the shift in tone. Nate wasn’t upset anymore - if he ever really had been - but instead just seemed  _ bothered _ by Nick, as if the synth had interrupted his afternoon with some trivial nonsense. Nick couldn’t keep the shock from his face. 

“Does that mean you really did it?” Nick said, unable to stop himself. “You  _ murdered  _ Piper?” 

Nate arched a brow at his former friend. “I thought you already figured that out,  _ detective, _ ” He said mockingly. “Yes, Nick. I killed Piper. Everything happened exactly as you said it did, down to the last detail. Congrats, you solved the case - I didn't even finish setting the whole mystery up before you came and solved it all. Guess that serves me right for palling around with a cop.” 

Nick realized well after the fact that his mouth was open. Dread flooded his system as he went over the words Nate said, replaying the admission a thousand times in his head in a desperate bid to find some meaning other than the obvious. Nate killed Piper, then turned her death into some kind of macabre scavenger hunt. It was disgusting. “ _ Why _ ?” He said when he could finally get his mouth around the words. “How could you do it, Nate? She was your friend - your  _ partner _ . She  _ trusted _ you!” 

Nate had the audacity to roll his eyes at Nick. “Why do you care? She was annoying anyways.”

Nick couldn’t believe what he was hearing. How could this be the same man who had rescued him from the Triggermen? The man who’d been helping him work through cases for almost two months now - who’d helped him track down Eddie Winter and put the old Nick’s fiancé to rest? A part of him wondered if Nate had been switched out by the Institute, because surely to God Nick couldn’t have been so thoroughly fooled for so long.

But he knew that wasn’t true. The Nate in front of him was the same Nate Nick had always known. The same man who killed Skinny Malone and Darla while saving Nick's life. The man who had gunned down the entire settlement of Covenant while rescuing Stockton's daughter from fanatics. The same Nate who had burst out laughing and applauded when Nick put his foot down on Winter's chest and nailed him between the eyes. Nate had always been this way. Cunning, smart, charming, sadistic, cruel. Some detective he was - Nick had been overlooking the obvious this whole time. Nate was a monster. 

“You’re  _ sick _ ,” Nick hissed, anger winning out over hurt and betrayal. He dropped the key and raised his pistol to take aim again. “I ought to shoot you now before you cause any more harm.”

Nate laughed, a choked, manic sound. His head turned to the side and he squinted at Nick. “Oh come on, don’t be like that,” Nate said. “We can still be friends, you know?” 

“I’m not your friend,” Nick spat, “apparently I never was. Friends don’t murder each other’s friends because they’re  _ ‘annoying _ ’ them.” 

Nate sighed in a harsh, irritated breath. “You’re overreacting,” He told Nick. Nate turned around, completely unphased by the barrel of Nick’s gun pointed at his temple, and began packing up his camping supplies. “Come on. Let’s just forget this whole thing and move on. She’s dead now - shooting me won’t bring her back, you know.”

“Shut the hell up, you goddamn  _ psychopath, _ ” Nick snapped. “The only reason I haven’t put a bullet in you yet is because you’re going to come back to Diamond City with me and face justice there.” 

“Really?” Nate said as he smothered the campfire with dirt and stones. “Does Diamond City even  _ have _ a judicial system? Even before everything went all martial law it seemed to run on a system of ‘do what we say or get shot.’”

Nick ignored him. He’d come to the conclusion that anything he said to Nate would be brushed off or disregarded completely. Nate didn’t seem to grasp the severity of what he'd done, and Nick was beginning to realize that nothing he said would make him understand. There wasn’t a shred of decency in that bastard that wasn’t a put-upon performance. 

Nick marched up beside Nate and snatched the man by the wrist. Nate looked at the metal skeleton of a hand clutching his arm, then up at Nick with a curious expression. 

“You’re coming with me, whether you like it or not,” Nick said sternly. 

“I really don’t know what you think you’re accomplishing by doing this,” Nate said calmly.

“You know what? I don’t really give a damn what you think,” Nick said. “You either follow me back to Diamond City or get shot in the head and dragged back as a corpse - either way is fine by me.”

Nate snatched his wrist back, throwing Nick’s hand off with a force Nick hadn’t realized any human was capable of. Nate shot the detective a skeptical look. “Come off it, Nick; you’re not going to shoot me,” He said confidently. 

“The hell I won't!” Nick said, raising his gun once again to level with Nate’s skull - this time the barrel sat less than an inch from his forehead. Nate knocked the gun away with a casual swipe of his hand. 

“No, you won’t,” Nate said, reaching down to grab his sleeping back that he had rolled back up into its case. “You’re not a killer, Nick - I’ve never seen you shoot someone who wasn’t shooting at you first. Face it, you’re just not built for this.”

Nick gritted his teeth, eyes locked with Nate for a moment before the latter turned and continued packing up. His finger tightened around the trigger, hands trembling. Why couldn't he shoot? Was there some sort of calibration error in his circuits? Was he finally losing his mind? 

With the last of his items packed up, Nate turned his back to the detective and began walking off back towards Sanctuary. “Whenever you get over this come find me, ‘kay?” He said with a dismissive wave. “I got a pretty interesting radio call from an old friend of yours up north. Seemed like he had a case for you, and I'd love to tag along. I'd be willing to check it out with you if you can manage to keep your pistol in your pocket.”

Nick watched as Nate pushed his way through the forest, stepping over brambles and bushes to clear out. His head was lined up in Nick’s sight, but he didn’t seem to care, because Nate was just that confident that Nick Valentine was not going to shoot him in the back. 

Nick lowered the gun just a fraction. Nate was right about him, Nick wasn’t a murderer. Not in his previous life, and not in this one. Despite how much the post-apocalypse had tried to break him down, Nick had always stuck by his morals. Everyone deserved a chance to become a better person, and justice cannot be found by gunning down defenseless people. Even Eddie Winter had pulled a gun on him first during their standoff in his bunker. 

_ “Hey, you're Detective Valentine, right?” _

_ Nick turned, mouth open and chopsticks full of noodles in the air. The young girl in a pink coat looked up at him; she was new in town, if Nick recalled. Barely old enough to be out of school and already trying to start up her own paper company. The news was one of the old Nick’s guilty pleasures - as yellow as journalism was back then, it was nice to sit down with a paper and read about what was happening in the world. Nick had been rather thrilled to hear someone was trying to bring it back.  _

_ “Hi there,” He said, putting down his bowl on the counter. “I don’t believe we’ve met yet.” _

_ “Piper Wright, chief writer of the Public Occurrences. Yes, I know my name's ironic, ” She popped up onto the barstool next to Nick. Amazingly, she hadn’t seemed bothered at all by Nick’s half-empty bowl or his metal hand - he was used to the first one or two meetings with people being riddled with uncomfortable questions and staring.  _

_ “Good to make your acquaintance, Piper,” Nick said, tipping his hat politely. Very few people liked to shake hands with a synth, he’d learned, especially since he'd lost most of his right hand to a Deathclaw a couple years back. “The name’s Nick Valentine, local private eye.” _

_ Piper smiled like he’d just announced himself as a wealthy corporate heir here on holiday. “I’ve seen the signs,” She said, twirling a pen between her fingers. “I was hoping to ask you a few questions for our latest issue.” _

_ Nick tried not to let his discomfort show. Him and questions were almost never a pleasant pair if he wasn’t the one asking. His past was a touchy subject, especially now that the Institute was becoming a major threat, and if people weren’t asking him about that, their questions typically centered around his anatomy in a far too personal way - he could hardly imagine what queries would pop up in the mind of a post-adolescent girl. Still, the kid looked excited, and she  _ was _ being professional about this. Besides, if things got out of hand he could always excuse himself and head back to the office.  _

_ So, Nick shrugged and said, “Sure, Piper, I got a few minutes.” _

_ “Thanks!” She squeaked, snatching a notepad from her pocket and clicking her pen. Nick braced himself for whatever questions came next. “So word on the street is you were recently in Goodneighbor for a case,” Piper started. “Can you give me a statement on the current state of affairs in Diamond City’s delinquent sister town?” _

_ Nick blinked. He hadn’t been expecting that. “Oh, um,” He said, wracking his memory for the case she was talking about. Lately, his memory had been getting harder and harder to sort through. Nick didn’t know how long he was built to last, but he was sure he was well past his warranty. Finally, Nick pulled up details about his trip. He took another second to skim through the less appropriate sections and put together his response. “The place is doing a lot better now that Hancock is in charge,” he said. “There’s a couple of shops set up now that keep the doors open, and you’re a lot less likely to get stabbed if you turn your back on the wrong guys. I even heard they’re putin’ together a Neighborhood Watch, similar to what we got here in Diamond City.” _

_ Piper nodded, scribbling on her pad in barely-legible letters. Nick paused to let her catch up, watching her absorb herself in her work. He wondered if that was what he looked like when he was pouring over case files.  _

_ The interview lasted for over an hour, ending with Nick inviting Piper over to the Dugout Inn to introduce her to the Bobrov brothers (and to treat the skinny orphan girl to a meal.) Never once did she mention his synthetic nature, nor did she ask about his past. Part of him knew she was biding her time, there was that journalistic glint in her eye that hinted at a deep curiosity, but she was polite enough to save the more personal questions for later. It was the first time in a while Nick had been treated so much like a person.  _

Nick pulled the trigger. 

The shot rang out louder than any he'd fired before. The bullet nailed Nate in the back of the head, causing him to lurch forward as he fell face-first into the forest floor. The leaves settled; Nate didn't move. Nick lowered his pistol, staring at the body of a man he'd mistakenly thought was his friend. The sound of the shot reverberated through the woods, bouncing off trees and echoing in Nick's auditory processors. 

The gun ended up back his holster, barrel of the crude pipe-pistol still trailing up smoke. Nick looked at the man face down in the dirt, letting his visual systems perform a cursory scan for signs of life. Not even a twitch. Nick ran his good hand over his face and sighed. 

"Christ," he muttered, fingers curled in frustration and dragged them down his face. "Damn… shit." 

Nick looked back at the body, feeling nothing for the monster he'd gunned down. He pulled the brim of his hat down over his eyes and turned around, ready to walk back towards town. 

Nate laughed. 

Nick's walk of shame came to a sudden halt; the sound of leaves rustling as Nate pulled himself up off the ground filled the air. "Well shit," He said, hand coming up to touch the blood on his forehead. Dark red lines ran down his face, staining his lips and they curled up in a smile. "You think you know a guy…" 

Nick barely had time to react. He turned around just in time to be tackled by the impossibly fast man. He didn't even have his gun out of the holster - Nick reached up and raked his metal claw of a right hand across Nate's face, aiming for the eyes. He pushed Nate off of him, scrambling to get to his feet. He wasn't built for combat, but he could slow down his processors to give himself an edge over most biological opponents. It did almost nothing against Nate; the man was inhuman in his movements - maybe he really _was_ a synth. Nick got his gun in hand but before he could fire off another shot Nate had him by the wrists, yanking the synth's arms painfully back against the socket. Nick yelled and was forced to drop his weapon. 

The two broke apart from their death grapple, Nate panting and Nick reeling internally to keep up. The man's black hair ran down from his tied-back hair, sticking to the blood on his face in frizzed clumps. Nate chuckled, still gasping for air. He reached into his jacket for a pair of brass knuckles with home-make spikes. "So," Nate snarled, "this really how you want to go out?" 

"If it's the last thing I ever do, Nate, you're going to  _ pay _ for what you did to Piper," the synth hissed. Nick lunged at Nate, aiming for his neck. Nate shrugged off the attack with a side step and an elbow to Nick's torso. Nate wrapped both hands around each other and slammed down on Nick's shoulder, throwing him off balance before pinning him to the ground. Nick turned, scrambling for his discarded gun. The brass knuckles came down on Nick's jaw, tearing the synthetic skin and damaging the delicate machinery there. Nick grunted but managed to get his fingers around his pistol. He turned, propping himself up by his elbow to unload his last 5 shots into Nate's chest and neck. Nick might as well have been shooting a wall for all the good it did. 

The brass knuckles came back down on Nick's jaw again and again, knocking the synth flat on his back. Nick's sensors screamed in warning, flooding his mind with signals that half of his face had been torn away. He felt the sting and the cold of his skeletal jaw exposed to the elements. Nate hovered over him as he reeled from the damage, panting hard as he rose back to his feet. 

Nate took advantage of Nick's sensory overload to bring his foot down on the synth's chest, tearing through his undershirt and exposing his synthetic plates. He kicked away the plastic there as if Nick were little more than a can of cram. Nick tried to scramble back on the heels of his hands, but Nate's foot came down on the freshly-exposed wires of his chest, the pressure pinning him down and flooding his system with agony. 

Nick cried out. There was no helping the involuntary response. His insides were far more sensitive to damage than his outsides, and his systems translated that through his neural network as pure agony. Nate seemed to delight at the newly discovered weak point in the synth; he ground down with his heel, tearing the wires out of place and snapping delicate components. Nick choked on a scream. 

"I really didn't want things to end this way, Nick," Nate chided. "It's not too late to go back to the way we were." The offer was followed by a jerk of Nate's foot, digging deeper into Nick's wires and an agonizing, overly-full feeling in Nick's middle. Nick grit his teeth, raising his head to glare at the man who had him pinned. 

" _ Go to hell!" _ Nick spit. 

Nate shrugged. "Ah well, have it your way." His foot yanked back, ripping several wires out from Nick's center. Coolant flooded his system and his vision blinked. Before Nick could react, Nate stomped down directly on his power core, cracking the casing with an electric jolt through Nick's system. He couldn't remember a single instance of pain worse than the feeling of electricity freely flowing through him, energy fading fast as every single internal system shorted and failed at once. Nick seized, sputtering and jerking as Nate kicked down again, cracking his core and initiating Nick's final shutdown procedures. 

**_Critical failure imminent, entering semi-permanent hibernation. Shutting down higher processes._ **

The last thing Nick saw before the world went dark was Nate staring down at him, smiling and laughing as the lights went out in Nick's eyes. 

_ \--- _

Nick’s processors came back online as if not a single second had passed since he was put down. The stiffness and rust in his joints begged to differ. 

"What on earth…?" he dragged a hand down his face, eyes still closed. He flinched when he felt the part of his face that had been torn off courtesy of Nate's strong left hook. He could only imagine what he looked like now. Nick blinked, but his optics weren't functioning yet, so it just made the darkness he experienced all the more prominent. "Hello? Anyone there?" 

"Nah, you're just imagining me," A new voice rang from Nick's side. A hand rested on his shoulder, urging Nick to stay laid down. "Turns out synths can go schizo too."

Nick furrowed his brow. He recognized the voice. "Deacon?" 

"Bingo! Get the synth a prize!" the sound of Deacon's laughter filled the room 

It had been a long time since he'd seen the man. Nick was one of the few people Deacon couldn't fool with his disguises - thanks in part to Nick's advanced optics - so it gave Nick the unique opportunity to befriend the man who knew everyone in the Commonwealth but no one had ever really met. So far, Nick hadn't been tempted to take up on that offer. It wasn't that he disliked the man or thought he was a bad guy (in fact, Nick was almost positive he was pretty high up in the Railroad, which was a cause he could get behind as an escaped synth himself) it was just that when he wasn't putting on an act Deacon was… well, annoying. 

Regardless, Nick would put up with him for now. It appeared the man of mysteries had saved Nick's life, since there didn't seem to be anyone else around and the last thing Nick recalled was having his power core crushed by a megalomaniacal jackass. 

_ Nate _ . 

"Shit," Nick muttered, hand over his bare mouth. He hated the way he could feel his teeth against his palm. "Nate… that bastard got away."

"Heh, yeah, he sure did…" There was something deeply depressing hidden behind those words. Nick felt a tug on something in his chest and his systems threatened to power off again. He sucked in a breath reflexively - a holdover from his lost humanity. 

"The fusion core should be able to support basic operations on this unit," A new voice, this one far more curt and masculine than Deacon's. Nick frowned at being referred to as a 'unit' - then remembered he didn't have the synthetic muscles to do that anymore. Christ, no wonder the new guy didn't think he was a person - depending on how much damage there was there might not be much left that separated Nick from the mindless Institute drones appearance-wise. 

Vanity aside, there was something else more important in what had just been said. 

"Fusion core?" Nick said, turning to face the direction of the voice. "Are you tellin' me I'm running on fusion power right now?"

"Affirmative," the clinical voice said after a brief hesitation. "I am adapting your systems to accommodate for the change in source power. There are a few more optimizations that need to be in place before you are functioning at full capacity." Nick felt a hand in the hole of his chest redirecting the wires. 

"Right - and who are you again?" Nick said, leaning his head back against what he assumed was a table. "Not to be ungrateful, but I prefer to at least know the name of the guy performing system-wide changes to my person."

Deacon snorted. "That's fair - I prefer it if the guy at least buys me a drink before rooting around in my insides," Deacon said. Silence filled the room until he decided to answer the question for the other man. "This is Paladin Danse - he's another one of Nate's discarded 'pet projects'." 

" _ Former _ Paladin," Danse corrected. Paladin? So he was Brotherhood, then? Or at least, ex-Brotherhood. That explained his expertise with fusion technology, and his stiffness about talking with a synth. 

Danse unscrewed the casing around Nick's central nervous system as he processed. Nick grit his teeth at the buzz it gave him, but apparently auxiliary power didn't reach his diagnostic system, so he was spared from the worst of the pain. 

"Pet projects?" Nick prompted. "What has that bastard been up to since he tried to off me."

"I'd say he more than 'tried'," Deacon said. "You've been offline for the better part of two years, old friend." 

Nick started, emotions churning under his exhausted systems. "Two years?" he said. Deacon made a noise of confirmation. 

"Welcome to the year of 2289, bud! Diamond City is a police state, Goodneighbor is back to complete and total anarchy, and just about everywhere else is some degree of hell-on-earth - and we owe it all to our mutual sociopathic murder-friend." Deacon's voice was as cheerful as ever, but there was an undercurrent of cynicism that Nick didn't recognize in the man. Something had changed for Deacon personally in the past two years. It seemed for a moment that Deacon wasn't going to elaborate, but thankfully Danse took over for him. 

"Deacon told me that you and Nate were close before he turned on you," He said as he messed with Nick's insides. "It is my understanding that he murdered someone who was… friends… with you?" Nick could hear the many,  _ many _ levels of discomfort this man had over talking to a synth. Guess you could take the man out of the Brotherhood… Deacon must have given Danse a crash course on synth rights, since the former Paladin was at least willing to operate on him and explain the bare minimum of what was going on. What a member of the Railroad was doing hanging around with a Brotherhood soldier - ex or not - was its own mystery. 

"He did," Nick answered the question posed to him. "Piper. A reporter from Diamond City. They'd been dating for a couple of months, but I guess he got bored and decided that a breakup was just too much work, so he killed her." Nick's voice was spitting with malice by the time he reached the end of his story. He felt the hands inside of him twitch as he spoke - an emotional response. 

"I'm… sorry for your loss," Danse said, clearly uncomfortable with a synth expressing emotions. "Nate has ruined a lot of lives, and ended even more prematurely."

"The guy's a downright bastard," Deacon agreed. 

Danse continued. "Deacon informed me of your history with Nate because he believes it may make you a valuable asset-" 

" _ Ally _ ," Deacon corrected. 

"-to our cause."

"And what cause would that be?" Nick asked. 

"We're gonna take that Sole Surviving fuck down," Deacon said darkly. Something about the man had  _ definitely  _ changed, there wasn't a doubt about it left in Nick's head. 

"Ambitious goals," Nick raised a brow. "Can't imagine how much use a barely-functioning old synth will be, but if there's any way I can help you can count me in. I made a promise to Piper that I intend to keep."

"Excellent," Danse said. He twisted something in Nick's spine and his eyes flickered to life. His vision was duller than before, almost like he was looking through an old terminal rendering, but at least he could see again. Power began flooding his limbs and Nick felt energy surge through him unabated. "Is this sufficient for basic functions?" Danse asked. 

"Might be a bit much, actually" Nick admitted, testing out a flick of his wrist. The motion was faster than he wanted. Danse nodded and adjusted the settings. While he worked Nick thought of something. "Stop me if I'm wrong, but wouldn't we be better off teaming up with one of your two 'connections' to take down Nate?"

The pair shared an uncomfortable look between the two and Nick felt his heart (or whatever counted for it) sink. 

"If it's the Brotherhood you are referring to," Danse said, voice low, "then that would be impossible. They're gone."

"Same with the Railroad," Deacon said, looking away from them both. 

"Gone?" Nick asked. He flinched as one of his wires was snipped. "What do you mean  _ gone _ ?" After the entrance they made into the Commonwealth, Nick didn't exactly expect the Brotherhood to just pack up and leave quietly. And as for the Railroad… 

"We mean gone, Nick," Deacon said. "As in gone, destroyed, deceased, dead, departed, no longer in existence." Nick stared at Deacon. There was a barely noticeable tremor in the man's arms; Deacon wasn't the type to get emotional, but that didn't mean he didn't  _ have _ emotions. As far as Nick could tell, the Railroad had been Deacon's family, likely the only people who actually knew him as himself and not as some alternate persona. 

"Jesus. I'm sorry," Nick said to the man. Deacon shrugged. 

"The Brotherhood was eliminated as well - taken down from the inside by Nate," Danse continued as he finished up the adjustments to Nick's new core. "He was granted an honorary emergency Knighthood in the hope that he would assist us in infiltrating and neutralizing the Institute."

"An honorary Knighthood?" Nick said skeptically. "I've never known the Brotherhood to be particularly liberal with their granting of titles."

"He had… assistance in acquiring Brotherhood support," Danse said, voice thick with an attempt to hide his guilt. "Among the ranks of the Brotherhood there was a synth infiltrator - Nate befriended him-  _ it- _ and used the connection to get closer to Elder Maxon." Nick felt the excess of power ebb and sighed, allowing the ex-soldier to replace his chest plate before sitting up. 

"Mhmm," Deacon hummed as Danse finished his story. "And are you going to mention the fact that the 'synth infiltrator' was  _ you _ , or should I?" 

Nick had to admit - he hadn't seen that coming. He looked back at the ex-Paladin, whose teeth were grit and eyes firmly planted on the ground. He would have never guessed the man was a synth - judging by the look on his face, neither had he. Being the way Nick was had its drawbacks, but at least he never had any delusions about his synthetic nature. This poor bastard must have just found out recently. 

"I was unaware of my status at the time," Danse said, confirming Nick's theory. "However, that is no excuse. Subconsciously, I must have been aware that my actions would lead to the destruction of the Brotherhood. After I avenge them, I fully intend to face the consequences of my betrayal - unintentional though it was."

"Oh come on, man," Deacon whined with a roll of his eyes, "you're not some kind of Institute sleeper-agent. Nate tricked you. He tricked all of us."

"That's one theory," Danse said, packing up his tools. Nick threw his legs over the side of the table and tried his hand at standing up, thankful that despite lacking a shirt he still had his pants, which made the process far more dignified than it would have been without them. His internal gyroscope was offline, giving him a sense of synthetic vertigo. He kept a hand on the workbench, adjusting to his new stage of being.

"How long is the fusion core going to last?" Nick asked. He was under no delusion about the state of his body. Fusion cores were more like batteries than the self-sustaining generator his previous core was - the average core could keep power armor going for about half a day at most. Nick was far less energy-intensive than a suit of armor, but there was no telling how his systems would react in the long term. His life expectancy had at least been cut in half, likely more than that.

"It's hard to say," Danse told him. "It can be replaced, and will most likely have to be changed out rather frequently.”

“How frequently are we talkin’ here?” Nick asked. 

“There’s no way of knowing for sure,” Danse admitted. “Because you weren't designed for fusion power there's no way to gauge the charge without removing it."

"Fantastic," Nick grumbled, already imagining a life of constant, unpredictable shutdowns. Still, better than being dead, he supposed. 

Danse handed Nick a shirt and his coat and hat, all of which he gratefully accepted. Covering up his new chest wound was a start to feeling back to his normal self, but one glance at his face in Deacon’s sunglasses said that he was going to have to take up wearing scarves if he ever wanted to feel a shred of dignity again. 

“So,” Nick said, still rubbing at the metal now taking up space where his jaw should be. “What’s the plan for putin’ Nate on ice?” 

Deacon smiled, as though laughing at his own internal joke. “Heh. Ice. Funny you should mention that…” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you're liking the story so far, please feel free to leave me a Kudos or a comment to show me you did. I love to chat with people in fandom ♥
> 
> PS. I have a tumblr now! Find me here: http://detectiveidiotboy.tumblr.com/


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